To the last I grapple with thee; from hell’s heart I stab at thee; for hate’s sake I spit my last breath at thee.
— Herman Melville, [tag]Moby Dick[/tag]
Damn you, [tag]rhinovirus[/tag]. Damn you Nonta for making those ass-kicking shots weekend before last, shots that apparently delivered the coup de grâce to my immune system, breeching the white-celled wall for the invading rhinovirus horde (but I forgive you, since you’re so darn cute). But most of all, damn myself for partying like a rock star. No one to blame but myself.
Oh well. At least reading [tag]Melville[/tag] in high school was not completely for naught. And on the plus side, being stuck at home for the bulk of the four-day weekend, waiting to cough up a lung and/or for one of my sinus cavities to explode, I finally found time to rip every CD I own. Some 21 gigs of tunes, all ripped at a variable bit rate with 320 kbps being the max. Rawk on. It was kind of fun, actually – rediscovered a lot of music that I hadn’t listened to in ages, and relived memories both good and bad. For example, back in the mid 90s, getting my goth on at the Phoenix in Cleveland when Queue Up was playing … good. Very good. Hating my life and everyone in it while whithering away in the high desert of Northern Arizona in the late 1990s … not so much. Escaping to the Bay Area at the beginning of 2000 … good, very good.
Ah, the memories that are inextricably mingled in with music. I remember the first time I heard The Cure. And the girl who played it for me. I remember the album I listened to on the way home from the hospital the night before my mother died. I was listening to Type O a lot back then. I remember blasting Alice Cooper on the last day of high school; you can easily guess what song (of course, that was actually on a cassette; I wouldn’t own a CD player until well after college … but I do have an Alice Cooper disc with that song on it). And L7 is still probably my all-time fave, if I had to pick one. Smell the Magic and Bricks are Heavy just never get old. I still Bite the Wax Tadpole.
So there is that. All of my music and the associated memories available at a few mouse clicks. For every cloud, there is a pleghmy silver lining, I suppose.