too creepy?

someday i'd like to write an obituary for a living friend. this might sound morbid but think about it for a second, good obits extol their subjects; they highlight the happy anecdotes of life; they find the meaning, the miracles, and untold legacies of our beloved. it seems a bit silly that we reserve all this potential for encouragement until after our friends are gone. but then again, i'd hate for an obit to turn prophetic.

i'm tired and want to go to sleep, but all my underwear is in the dryer.

enya makes everything poignant

alright, i'll admit it, i'm a closet enya fan.

some people use enya like ice cream or bubble baths. after a stressful day at work, they slip shepherd moons into the cd player and let enya do her magic. for others enya is something of a thought elixer. like inspirational gregorian chant, the peaceful pleasant chords melt into the background and help thoughts to crystallize.

however, i tend to associate enya with boxer briefs. at the sound of that simple perfect voice, i think back to my college roommate. he'd perch his battering ram of a cd player on the bathroom sink near the shower and then chant right along as he showered. then, clothed in nothing but fruit of the loom, he'd hit the books--our room was an academic enya sanctuary.

as i listen to enya again, it's funny for a moment, but enya is mightier than my laughter. she is more powerful than underwear. she somehow endues everything with meaning. the ridiculous yet entirely reasonable antics of my roommate are suddenly a puzzle piece in the journey of life. a brief subway ride with beth, jacinda, and matt (see below) is an elysian image of earthly romance. my roommate's boxer briefs are somehow a symbol of our human fraility. have i gone crazy? maybe, but blame enya....

jacinda basinger. "elysian romance 1, 2, & 3" nyc, ny.