The Antidote

I was thinking about Morcheeba on my way into work this morning. I compose entries when I'm riding my bike, driving my car, getting uninspired head - ya know, those activities where letting your mind wonder can have really disastrous results.

Anyway, Morcheeba was on my mind because I was thinking about how often-times, when I pre-compose theses little ditties, I feel all Carrie Bradshaw, sitting around in her pink tank top and boxer shorts.

Now, my tank tops aren't pink, they're more likely to be coffee stained and I since No Pants Day has passed, I am sitting here dressed. I am also at work, on break of course, so being dressed is kinda mandatory.

But when I write, I often hear the music of Morcheeba in the background while the internal mental camera pans right, the thoughtful Darren Star or Michael Patrick King utterance issues forth and...ahhhh.....release. It's a lot more satisfying than the uninspired head or the daily commute into work. Biking and blogging are still symbiotic rather than adversarial....thank goodness!

So, I get into work this morning to see that my pal Kelly sent me an e-mail informing me that this import album from Morcheeba was released yesterday and that Mz. Skye is flying solo.

I am so grateful Kelly is my friend for any number of reasons. Top of the list is the psychic tune in we've developed over the past thirteen years. Oh, and his killer music collection. To his credit, his verbal skills could decimate legions of gays with just a few keystrokes, but he doesn't blog. He sends me fun shit to post on here and has put up with more of my irrational behavior than anyone other than my mother. He was my roommate for almost 8 years and this past year on my own without him has been very difficult for me.

I'm not gonna go all Oprah even though I'm teetering on the brink. But I'd much rather embarrass myself than him at this moment. He'd never forgive me. And I wouldn't run the risk of that for anything. There's no antidote for that.