I read more magazine and web articles than anything else, and
finding time to read all those that interest me is a challenge I
often lose. Which leaves little time for books. However, I'll read
anything written by Annie Dillard. The ways she puts words together
sometimes takes away all of mine. Mary Oliver has the same effect.
Kenneth Patchen, Howard Zinn, and Mark Twain hush me in other
ways.
I like intelligent, well-crafted movies, but that doesn't mean I
only watch serious art films. Just because a film is artsy doesn't
mean that it's intelligent; nor does serious subject matter
guarantee quality production. I guess it's like most things: if
you're only going to do something half-assed, don't expect me to be
interested.
In music, I want to listen to something with a good beat and a
clear melody, and in a song the music is more important to me than
the lyrics. A few weeks ago I was driving through Queens, New York
listening to a radio program on which the merits of Stairway to
Heaven were debated. To me, Stairway is a beautifully crafted song;
who cares if the words make any sense? There's emotion and
meaning-power, even-in the notes themselves. But I tend to lean
toward instrumentals, and most of the time I want to hear something
I can dance to. Even though I don't really dance. Or like modern
dance music. Music should stir something inside you, whether it's
just a toe tap or a fond memory; or maybe a booty shake or a tear
in your eye. I know it moves me.
Older country seems to be appropriate truck driving music.
It's surprisingly difficult to find a really good burrito.
