I'm sick of spending these lonely nights training myself not to care

The first time I went to New York this was the view from my window.

My life has been downhill ever since.

Not really, but sort of yeah. The other night I was looking through pictures from that trip trying to find a photo of an old printing press, and those digital images conjured a flood of memories. I could practically taste the air, frozen in time from October of 2003. I take a lot of pictures everywhere I go, but it's a rare thing for them to actually take me back to that moment in time.

Part of the reason I liked flipping through those pictures so much is because that trip came right in the middle of a period in my life, say eight months, where everything just came together. Before I was ravaged by the cruel hands of time.

This sounds extra mopey, and I don't mean it to be. I'm doing alright for myself these days. I mean, I've got this blog, I have pair of sunglasses.... pretty sweet.

The title of this post comes from a line in the song "NYC" off this album:

This is my favorite album of the last ten years. It's not the best album, oh heavens no, I could count off a thousand better albums on my right hand alone. It's not like I want to go around listening to it all the time, it's just that like the photos I mentioned above, this album is welded to pleasant memories.

No wait! That's wrong. Memories isn't the right word. It's not that when I put on the album I think "Ah yes, this reminds me of the crisp fall night that we drove down the canyon with the top down, the wind to our backs and our angst yet before us." [previous sentence should be read aloud in a J. Peterman voice]. No, there aren't any specific memories associated with it, just vague notions of good vibrations.

I guess it also reminds me of that one time Haydee tried to wave to me through the phone...

Okay, I can see that I've lost you. Here, I'll try to end this strong.