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the freeway reminding of this mess we're in

I went karting today (with Tim, Bru and Billy) , which was fucking awesome. I'm weirdly bruised on my right shoulderblade from (I guess) the time I overcooked Turn 1 and slid full-tilt into the wall. Bru saw the whole thing from behind and says there was air under the car, and under me when it threw me up into the air.

And then he went racing past me, because I was, like, stopped.

But that's racing. Had a couple of clean races where Bru and I were at the head of the field and lapping people, and one frankly annoying race where I never saw the green fly after a caution period, and I lost about 5 positions because I thought I was following the rules. Won't let that happen again.

After a visit to Atwood's I'm grooving to a PJ Harvey record I thought I could never listen to again (stupid iTunes...), but finding it perfect and disconcerting all at once.

It was the soundtrack for the shit I went through in 2000 and 2001, but it always rocked. And now, of course, it still rocks because PJ Harvey doesn't know how to make any other kind of record. But it's newly and anciently relevant all at the same time, and that seems weird (becuase how can anything keep repeating itself like that?), and makes me want to hop back in the car, and drop the hammer.

While PJ comes along for the ride. There's no such thing as escape.

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This page contains a single entry from the blog posted on 2007-02-25 at 00:14.

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