Hotel rumination

I’ve been on the road for too long. I’ve had too much to think about and I've patronized too many false idols: booze, power and bad music.

Booze

My favorite drink is a Sad Martini: vodka, vermouth, and lemon juice. I spent most of the hockey semi-finals with that drink in my hand. Listening to the guys in the booth next to me talk about women and then scream about hockey. I’m straining it all through a booze filter, and they sound the same to me. I hear passion, complaint, loss and regret. The sound from a score on goal is the same as a one-night stand. The wistfulness of the play they will never make is the same in both arenas. And it seems there are only arenas in life. Everything is on display. All is sport.

Power

If it all weren’t sport, it would be life and death, a struggle for power. It’s here I lose my will to go on. When they skirt the real of life I order more to drink. To really tell you what they were saying about power would impart too much information and you will guess who they are. I will sum it up by saying they were all boys wishing to be men. The men they dream-talk of becoming are saviors, architects and heroes. As sadness washes over their group it becomes mine and I see where I’m trapped in becoming.

Bad Music

This moment would've fallen away like a thousand other moments, but as the hockey game dies,  the music picks up. The sound track of becoming holds it all in place. The hollow wail of Chicago blues, and the murmur of  emo are one and the same. I could've drunk this conversation, my eavesdropping could've drown in a few more Sad Martini's, but the music, they lyrics wrap it altogether. 

"One thousand roses at your feet, 

for the five hundred promise I can keep, 

I'm sorry,

I'm sorry baby.."

I kid myself by saying I've just been listening. I don't worship where these broken children play. I’ve been on the road for too long. I’ve had too much to think about and patronized too many false idols. Maybe next time I'll stay in my room.