I liken a certain girl to an area of land that had grown beautifully from being an over-exploited and under-appreciated field to a lush meadow of New England Aster, Goldenrod, White Clover, Purple-Fan Thistle, Black-Eyed Susans, and a mix of variegated grasses. And now this pristine meadow was in danger of being dozed over and developed into the sterile, puerile lawn for some god-awful country house built by someone who made their money in the Financial Markets and spent their lives in some horrendous place like Pittsford or Webster. And there is little I can do in this world of sacred Private Property and aversion to protest over land-use. To save her I would need some massive Proudhonnian revolution...and that is just absurd.

Another day of snow and slush. To drive in this weather is to suffer from mild anxiety. You don't know if there is ice or slush or if you are going fast enough or too slow or if the car coming up behind you is going to take you out. You don't know if the big rig coming alongside of you is going to jackknife or if you are going to get pulled into his orbit. It is all very disconcerting and the only proper thing to do is smoke cigarettes and listen to decent music rather loudly.

I spend a lot of time at work. More than I ever thought I would spend at any workplace. I realized this whilst standing on the back docks this evening, smoking a cigarette and looking out across the lots toward the smokestacks of the old Eastman Chemical complex. I think that is all Carestream or DuPont or some such shit now, but it doesn't matter. It occurred to me that that vista was more familiar to me - at that moment - than any other vista. Amazing, really. Amazing that in three-quarters of a year I have grow so familiar with a place. Chalk it up to long hours. I imagine that I will sink slowly into this job and into this industry. I've already about seven years into it. Parts management. And still slogging it out in the pits. Or, rather, in the racks. Up and down Mt.Read Boulevard working in shit-hole warehouses doing third- and fourth-party logistics, chasing accounts and desperately flaunting my specialized knowledge in IBM, HP, and Dell parts inventories. Like so many other parts jockeys up and down the Thruway.

There is a song by the Tragically Hip called "Bobcaygeon" and the lyrics go like this (as I type them as I listen to the song):

Left your house this morning
'Bout a quarter after nine
Could have been the Willie Nelson
Could have been the wine
When I left your house this morning
It was a little after nine
It was in Bobcaygeon
I saw the constellations
Reveal themselves, one star at a time.

Drove back to town this morning
With working on my mind
Thought I may be quitting
Thought of leaving it behind
Went back to bed this morning
As I am pulling down the blind
And the sky was dull
And hypothetical
And falling one cloud at a time

That night in Toronto with its checkerboard floors
Riding in on horseback and keeping order restored
'Til the men they couldn't hang stepped to the mic and sang
and their voices rang in that Aryan twang

Got to your house this morning
Just a little after nine
In the middle of that riot
Couldn't get you off my mind
So I'm at your house this morning
Just a little after nine
It was in Bobcaygeon
Where I saw the constellations
Reveal themselves one star at a time...


Fucking beautiful. The constellations revealing themselves one star at a time.

I remember one night so many years ago when I liked this girl and I was desperately trying so hard to impress her and to capture her attention. I went on and on about the stars and the myths behind them, making sure drench them in as much romantic frivolity as I could muster. Of course I failed. Of course she wasn't as enthralled as I became as I talked about it. Of course she was much more interested in the drunken flirtations of my buddy. Of course I rationalized it away. Years later, many years and in fact last year, I stood in a pitch black field on top of a hill above the Conesus valley and pointed out the same constellations to a wonderful girl who did seem as enthralled as I was with those distant pinpoints. But she is the girl I mentioned above...the beautiful meadow perched on the verge of callous development. And no amount of stargazing will change it.