Monday night, I drove my dad's car up-town (as it's called when you drive from my grandmother's rural address into the small town of Oxford, NC) to the grocery store. I tried to turn the volume up on the radio, but I accidentally turned the station knob instead. What did I stumble upon? A Phil Collins live question and answer radio hour. Some of you may already be aware of my irrational love for Phil Collins (not so much his disney stuff, but I can still muster some appreciation for it). Nary a big-box grocery trip goes by that I don't hear him and stop in my tracks to give a quick smile to the radio gods. To hear him after living in a weird, fucked up southern time warp for the previous 24 hours was like rereading an email from a friend you miss. I know, it's ridiculous, but it was like the universe said, "go back to the happy place." And then. THEN. The show went into a musical interlude between callers, and the song they played? "Take Me Home." Couldn't have said it better myself, Phil. And now, I take you to this evening's angsty haiku:
windshield wipers on
low, ice lining the shoulders
my mind stuck in park
picture: shadow at the brooklyn botanic garden, NY, June 2012, film, Canon Tlb
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