You know, I really like bluegrass. It’s folk (or country) music on speed. Even the saddest bluegrass song is full of manic banjo-picking goodness. Happy bluegrass is joy in a bottle. And I’ve been listening to it since yesterday. Thank you, Pandora. And especially the Dillards, who, among other things, covered “I’ve Just Seen a Face” and turned it into a bluegrass staple.

Anyway:
Diary of the Proletariat, Day 8:
-Overtime! Two extra hours today because of a safety seminar (don’t get hit by forklifts, kids! I'm sorry, industrial lifting trucks). Sadly, no German forklift safety video.

-Brilliantly, sandblasting equipment features gaps whereby certain smallish parts may fall into the sand reservoir. That was an adventure.

-Felt poetic for a while. That was fun. I also realized I haven’t read much good poetry, or prose for that matter, in quite a while. The poetry part is being remedied by a book I picked of the Reg’s “free books” pile at the end of the year.

-In general, did a lot of thinking (what else am I going to do?). Mostly about poetry, songwriting, and considerations related thereto. I also realized my philosophical side has been heavily suppressed, probably because of the general air of pretension that seems to surround such things at the U of C. Still, it’s much easier to succeed as a poet when you have thoughts and feelings about things. Although even calling myself a poet feels a bit pretentious. There’s this cultural tradition wherein poet is a half-step from prophet, fire on the mountaintop, wisdom from on high. Inspiration is likened to the voice of God. But I write poetry; I am a poet. Any act of expression or creation, in at least a small way, is a proclamation: “My thoughts are worth writing down! My observations are worthwhile!” But this is the blog generation; we should all be used to that feeling by now. Heck, blogging and poetry have a lot in common. Certainly, the intersection of bad blogging and bad poetry is the heart of many a livejournal. And this is why, as a last measure of protection, I keep my poetry on a separate page. And, er…

“Food for thought… Though from food!”

-NEXT TIME: The exciting world of jury duty, in which I try to figure out why the hell I have been assigned to the courthouse in Rolling Meadows!