sunday afternoon...

I've been rediscovering the excellence of Rush. It started last night at about ten. I worshipped at the green cross and then blissed out to 2112, Hemispheres and Caress of Steel on my iPod. The fun continued today at the gym as I listened to three straight hours of Rush. This would probably be torture for most people. I really enjoyed it. It'd be easy enough to dismiss Rush as dumb Canadians. I don't think this is fair. They're definitely nerdy and their conceptuality is a bit confused at times, but I give them credit for fusing Ayn Rand, Isaac Asimov, George Orwell, Led Zepellin and The Who into one deluxe package. It's not necessarily the mix of ideas and influences I would chose for myself if I were making music, but what they attempt to do shows definite intelligence, imagination and passion. It doesn't hurt that they also have a great melodic sensibility. Sometimes you have to wade through boring patches to get to the melodies, but it's well worth the work... The great thing about being an old fart is that you can listen to stuff like Rush without embarrassment.

...I'm planning a drive out to Crestline tomorrow. I feel excited and nervous about it at the same time. I know the terrain will be beautiful - classic California forest - but it's also hardcore rural mountain country. I fear what lurks in the countryside. Part of the fear comes from class snobbery, I admit, but it's also a reaction to the increasing town-country antagonism of the Bush years. The cosmos view the bumpkins as simple minded hillbillies who believe that a man in the sky created earth in a week. The bumpkins view the cosmos as godless communists who take it in the ass. It's a hard chasm to bridge... My fear of rural America is also an instance of a more general fear I have of the unfamiliar. It's not easy for me to wander outside my comfort zone. Crestline is a few hours from Los Angeles, but it's really light years away. A friend of mine told me a few years back that when he went hiking in Crestline with his wife, they found a dead dog by the side of the road with an arrow through its throat. That sounds like just about what I would expect to find in the country, except that I envision me having the arrow through my throat as opposed to a dog. ...The funny thing about these kinds of trips is that I never really enjoy them or recognize what they mean to me until well after the fact. When the dusk starts to fall does the owl of Minerva spread its wings to fly. I took a driving trip up the California coast during summer break from college when I was 20 years old. I started in San Diego and ended in San Francisco. I spread the trip out over a period of four weeks. I traveled on picturesque back roads and had some great adventures, yet I felt lonely and disconnected for much of the trip. Only upon reflection years later did I fully understand that the trip planted the California seed in my mind, the thought that something different from New York City was possible for me. I took a circuitous route to get where I am today, but it all started with that trip up the coast, for better or worse. I guess putting down roots in LA was the exception proving the rule. The desperate need for change trumped my fear of the unfamiliar. ...I'm not expecting to have any life changing ideas on the drive tomorrow, but who knows? My gut feeling is that these trips are good for my soul, even if I don't really enjoy them while they're happening...