Today at half-past-noon, I trotted back to the office with my Cosi sandwich. The sidewalks were packed with office workers and tourists all universally reveling in profound A++ balmy late summer sunshine. I encountered some co-workers who not only waved but grinned at me, giddy with the confidence that the superior weather practically mandated a long lunch break.
Go ahead, take a 2 hour lunch, a voice nagged me as I navigated bands of pedestrians, baby carriages, and sidewalk cyclists to my office front door. Somehow I made it upstairs, to my tiny beaten cubicle that sits 20 feet from a window. Somehow I forced myself to stop reading Olympics news updates and work. Another lunch hunched over my laptop, typing and scrolling with my right hand and clutching my flatbread sandwich in the left hand.
As I explained on Tuesday, for about 3 weeks I had no other music on my work laptop except the Grosse Point Blank soundtrack, I was steadily losing my mind as well as developing a searing hatred of the Violent Femmes and Pete Townsend. Luckily, the act of composing Tuesday’s post jogged my memory on Wednesday morning to bring a stack of CDs to the office. Mellow, upbeat tunes like the Allman Brother’s A Decade of Hits and Bob Marley’s Talking Blues are conducive to productivity.
Surprisingly, White Zombie’s La Sexorcisto has proved to be a powerful morale boaster. Maybe I just like the naughty feeling when “Thunder Kiss ’65” and “Welcome to Planet Motherfucker” blast through my earphones and my corporate compatriots are none the wiser. A little secret, like sexy black panties. Unfortunately it’s nearly impossible to concentrate with Rob Zombie’s howling in my ear, so I’ll go back to Bob Marley and find solace in the “Rastaman Chant”: When the work is over, we gonna fly away home now
Fly away to the White Mountains, actually!
