Scotty! Can you bring them back?

Tuesday creeps in quietly, with a high haze of evenly distributed overcast and hues of soft steel blue filtered light. I kept the top down for the drive in this morning, but had to toss the lid up and over me shortly before I got to campus as a very light mist was starting to condense out of the air around me. The forecast is inscrutable, showing a 9% probability of 0.00 inches of rain, and the infamously PNW sun-with-clouds icon. So, as the weatherman said, we'll see.

Fellow iPadians, take a lesson, take a note: If you use the BlogPress app to write your blog posts (I do), always save your posts locally
before
you post. Any network burp at the moment of posting will otherwise eradicate your work. It won't be saved locally, it won't be posted. It will simply disappear in an invisible shower of binary digits.

I was lazy yesterday morning, forgot this hard-learned lesson, and had to relearn it. Thus, no post for yesterday. Oh, it was duly written and submitted, but like a bad transporter malfunction, nothing beamed down to planet Blogger and nothing came back to the mother-ship. There was a fleeting moment when I wanted to shout: "Scotty! Can you bring them back?" But I knew, just as quickly, that it was already too late. My very-finite written thoughts has joined the infinite cloud of all possible unwritten words. I'm sure glad I submitted an extra-credit post on Mother's day!

A nicely stirred pot of tunes this morning, with a variety of genres floating to the surface of the boil. Alternative (whatever the hell that genre category is supposed to mean), rock, straight-up classic jazz, and Irish/classical/choral.

Cockburn sings (My Beat about his commute, on bike, through his new hometown (Montreal, in 2001), in a wonderfully poetic mix of the seen and the felt:

Past the derelict mattress
and the overgrown pavement
over the tracks
and through the hole in the fence
Past graffiti-bright buildings
and the junkyard alarm bell
and the screaming police cars
and it's all present tense

It's my beat
In my new town

Past the drunk woman reeling
with her bag of provisions
Down through the tunnel
with the stink-fuming bus
On to the bike path
where it's something like freedom
and the wind in my earring whispers
Trust what you must

It's my beat
In my new town

Ancient and always
The wheel's ever whirling
Today I'm riding
Tomorrow I walk
Step through forever
into this very moment
The heart is pumping
and the heart rocks

It's my beat
In my new town

A good commuting tune. Here is the rest of today's playlist:

- The Killers: Forget About What I Said
- Oscar Peterson Trio: Waltz For Debby
- Bruce Cockburn: My Beat
- Patrick Cassidy: Welcome The Cavalcade Of Steeds


- Posted via Hermes.