AS IS MY WONT: I am tunneling deep into the heart of the Berkeley Hills with a bottle of $4 Traitor Joe’s wine, heading towards my friend way the hell up there. I put this album on and have been hanging out with it. Why not. I like this song. I had a monster crush on The Guitar Girl the summer it came out, but I went ass-backwards about the whole thing and wrenched it big time. So it goes. I reckon if I really thought about it, I still like her that way, though what can you do, really? That was a harrowing summer . . . a bad beat, no doubt, and all my doing, or undoing rather, but then what else is new. It makes me a little sad to listen to this stuff on account of its ice-cold reminder of my own stupidity and hubris . . . I have allowed myself to feel those things because, in the tradition of self-loathing at night, I thought I would retrace a defining juncture of my fall from grace, no matter how painful. Plus I just dig this song~
Anyway I have almost reached the top, near Tilden Park and all those magical places up here. I can see all of Berkeley and across the Bay into San Francisco. It is another good night to be in California. Nothing is wrong, and so on, and the air is warm. Yeah.