MiTT
Super User
So yesterday for me was just one of those painfull days that seems to drag on forever. Every interaction seemed to bring a little more pain to the dull throb in my head. A Marketing Manager I work with in San Francisco called to whine about how she feels my team isn't giving her all of the support she feels she needs, even though she can't tell me what it is she needs. Bottom line, she wanted to let me know that she wasn't intentionally throwing me under the bus, but that she was crafting a letter to my boss, and my bosses boss to throw me under the bus anyway. OK... Talked to my dad later and I come to find out that his recent stint in the hospital has alerted him to the fact that he's got some very serious heart problems and that the therepy he was hoping could bring him some relief is a no-go because some of the medication he's on to keep him from having a stroke isn't compatible with the therapy. They'll play with his medication and test him again in several weeks. Several weeks where he could have any number of problems or additional complications. He's sad, my mom's sad, and now I'm sad too.... I work late and head out to my car only to discover it's literally COVERED in bird crap! I kid you not like it was a freakin' bombing range or something. I'm tired as hell, and I have a cold coming on and generally feel like the new finish on my car. I get home and the spousal unit sets me down, listens to me whine for a while and then pours me a decent sized tumbler of single barrel reserve "cough medicine". After a bit she says she's going upstairs to read and suggests I turn on the stereo to enjoy a little down time. Did I mention I love this woman?
A few minutes into St. Saens Sym. No. 3 and all of the days piercing white hot needles have been replaced by silky smooth red velvet curtains blowing ever so softly in the breeze. Rivers of chocolate cascade down around me as the third movement begins. The "cough medicine" certainly helps, but I'm slowly becoming one with the chair, melting away, the tighness in my jaw replaced by soft, warm comfort. My only interuption is to every so often flip the album over, and replace it with a new one taking simple pleasure in the ritual that comes with it. Hours have passed, and finally I am myself ready to pass, gently warned to "Don't Smoke in Bed" by Holly Cole. Thanks Holly, you know I won't.
I wonder, what do people who don't have this hobby, especially as rendered by these great speakers, do to keep their skin from crawling off?
A few minutes into St. Saens Sym. No. 3 and all of the days piercing white hot needles have been replaced by silky smooth red velvet curtains blowing ever so softly in the breeze. Rivers of chocolate cascade down around me as the third movement begins. The "cough medicine" certainly helps, but I'm slowly becoming one with the chair, melting away, the tighness in my jaw replaced by soft, warm comfort. My only interuption is to every so often flip the album over, and replace it with a new one taking simple pleasure in the ritual that comes with it. Hours have passed, and finally I am myself ready to pass, gently warned to "Don't Smoke in Bed" by Holly Cole. Thanks Holly, you know I won't.
I wonder, what do people who don't have this hobby, especially as rendered by these great speakers, do to keep their skin from crawling off?
