Some people know me as fairly level-headed under most circumstances. Circumstances where one shouldn’t be level-headed, in fact.
Other people know me to be over-emotional and somewhat hysterical when under stress. Especially stress that involves interpersonal relationships.
But.
There is one thing that will always piss me off, and that is: Internet dialups in Wyoming.
Month: January 2003
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Not a picture of my gas tank, but an article by Brian Eno that appeared in Time Magazine, if you can believe that.
Thanks to Tom Tomorrow for the link. -
I’m planning on leaving Houston tomorrow (er, later today).
Earlier tonight I drove all the way around loop 610 in counter-clockwise direction, as a way to say farewell to this awful city.
I find it hard to say the city is awful, but I also find it hard to say the city isn’t awful. I’m pretty sure I’m looking at the downsides in order to get my hippie ass back to the pacific northwest, where it belongs. (I’m also saying I have a hippie ass for the same reason.)
“Driving ’round the city rings
Staring at the shapes of things..”
–peter gabrielThe region of 610 near the ship channel always blows me away. My eyes start to sting a little bit and tear up, and my nose runs. Then I’m surrounded by chemical refineries burning constellations of halogen lights and plumes of flame. People live here; on the east side of the highway is a subdivision and a quarter mile beyond it is a huge refinery. All around here are people who have gotten used to stinging eyes.
The ship channel is a major port. The 610 loop goes up and over the channel on a huge bridge that always takes my breath away. It’s not just the off-gassing from the refineries, either. The view from the top of the bridge makes it seem that all the stars in the heavens have fallen to earth and dot the ground below you. All except along the narrow band of water drooling along under the bridge.
On the north side of the channel, about a mile beyond the corridor of refineries, is the municipal landfill. It’s mammoth. You drive next to it for a mile and a half. It towers above the east side of the highway.
Aside from the refineries and the landfill, as you journey around the loop you find shopping malls, strip centers, fast food, and c-stores. Standard issue urban landscape. The Galleria area is notable for it’s upscale sophistication and charm, but it, as well, is named after a mall: The Galleria.
The other notable portion of the drive is near what used to be called The Astrodomain. Now it’s just The Dome, Astroworld, and Reliant Stadium.
Reliant Stadium gives me the creeps. It’s huge, and dwarfs the Astrodome, which sits right next to it. And it has the Houston Texans logo on it, which is a demonic Minotaur head. And I’m convinced there’s something else, too. Something down under the football field. Some dark chamber where unspeakable rites are performed in service of the Dark One while the throngs of unsuspecting souls cheer on the football team above. Very Hammer horror kind of stuff.
Then again, I’m somewhat imaginative.
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I finished with the Edison discs. After a while they all sound the same, and how many foxtrots can a guy listen to in 48 hours and remain sane?
So it’s not a question of finishing them, but just stopping because I’m sick of hearing the scratchy old Edison.
More to come as musique du jour.
Also, Brezsny is making good guesses, as usual. Though especially of late, I’ve found myself thinking big thoughts and running headlong into the thing I need.
That’s how it is with the house I’m going to be renting. That’s also the way it is with my Vanagon. Some guy called me here in Texas, out of the blue. My housemate had given him the number. He wants the van to convert to bio-diesel, a project I can get behind.
Now if I can get a call out of the blue from some guy who needs a pile of old computers. Or maybe a call from George W. Bush, pleading for advice.
