Groovy enui

Eh.

Didn't get the job. No minimum 12K raise on the spot. Ramen, anyone?
It's cool. I made a real good showing and left a real good impression. Still, it's fru$$trating as hell. Especially with our current $$ituation to consider.

Little things help. Listening to this achingly beautiful masterpiece as the evening sun over the turnpike begins to whisper autumn. Finding a New Yorker nearly a week after it's street date. Contemplating plans for our return to Seattle two weeks hence. Perhaps I'm utterly fucking insane, but I still hold on to the romance of (air) travel and movement. My heart still beats a little faster at the thought of a long drive, a layover, a new airport bar, foreign anchors on foreign American newscasts, alien cities in view beyond the terminal and tarmac. Two weeks to go (Seattle, of course, is hardly an alien city, and O'Hare is one of my favorite airports). And in one week, a six-hour drive to Cooperstown. Rural Maine, through the Berkshires into the Catskills. Baseball and beer in a setting that I can only imagine must be beautiful beyond words. Can. Not. Wait.

Still...

Thursday morning we drove into the cubes thoroughly grooving to the next-to-most-recent Pernice Brothers. I had occasion (a trim) that night to walk a block or two of our old Portland stomping grounds for the second time since moving. Guess who played PTLND the night before with me totally unaware? Yeah, I'm a bit removed from my hipster days.

I'm going nowhere with this, but I'm really okay. Really. Still...