These days have been long. Longer than usual, in fact. That's right:
Longer than usual. Impossible, you say? A day is a day, you say? Not so, I say. These days have been long, and they're getting even longer. Let me tell you what I mean. I just now looked at my clock. It reads 7:18. At this time yesterday, it was a little before midnight. I swear. How does that happen? We've been stressed. The lump in our throat says so. The knot in our stomach and the crink in our neck confirm it. With producing the Buyer's Guide, shipping the November issue, preparing for CEDIA, trying to get a jump start on December, putting the final touches on our upcoming Diabelli Variations CD, wondering where the tunnels go, reflecting on loss, attempting to solve problems which have not yet occurred, being a wife and mother, being a husband and father, being a brother and son, pondering the meaning of life and the possibility of happiness, and having to stop to pee, we've been stressed. But I protest too much. What's really the point of all this? I wanted to let you know that I've been reading Art Dudley's Buyer's Guide essays. They're absolutely wonderful. They're informative and opinionated and absolutely wonderful. I've also just started Jonathan Safran Foer's delicious-looking Extremely Loud & Incredible Close. His name — Jonathan Safran Foer — for no good reason, played itself like a song, like life, over and over again in my mind. It sang:
Jonathan Safran Foer
Jonathan Safran Foer
Jonathan Safran Foer
Jonathan Safran Foer
Jonathan Safran Foer
Jonathan
Safran Foer
Jonathan Safran
Foer
Jonathan
Safran
Foer
Jonathan Safran Foer
Jonathan Safran Foer
Jonathan Safran Foer
Jonathan Safran Foer
Jonathan Safran Foer
It went on and on like this as I stared at people on the screeching PATH train, his name clanging against the orange seats and knocking into the dirty walls. And then, I wondered: Isn't that what they put in rice? And just as I wondered it, the woman across from me, in her jean jacket atop white sweater above black and white swirled skirt beyond flip-flops celebrating red-painted toes, pulled from her bag (whose looks I can't recall): Jonathan Safran Foer. "That's weird," I thought. I wish I could just tell you what Art Dudley says in his essays, but I guess it'll have to wait. You'll have to read it yourself. I'll tell you this, though: He reveals the key to getting the most out of your music. It has something to do with saying "I love you."
Tonight, and every night, I want my music, my life, to sound wonderful.
I love you.
Longer than usual. Impossible, you say? A day is a day, you say? Not so, I say. These days have been long, and they're getting even longer. Let me tell you what I mean. I just now looked at my clock. It reads 7:18. At this time yesterday, it was a little before midnight. I swear. How does that happen? We've been stressed. The lump in our throat says so. The knot in our stomach and the crink in our neck confirm it. With producing the Buyer's Guide, shipping the November issue, preparing for CEDIA, trying to get a jump start on December, putting the final touches on our upcoming Diabelli Variations CD, wondering where the tunnels go, reflecting on loss, attempting to solve problems which have not yet occurred, being a wife and mother, being a husband and father, being a brother and son, pondering the meaning of life and the possibility of happiness, and having to stop to pee, we've been stressed. But I protest too much. What's really the point of all this? I wanted to let you know that I've been reading Art Dudley's Buyer's Guide essays. They're absolutely wonderful. They're informative and opinionated and absolutely wonderful. I've also just started Jonathan Safran Foer's delicious-looking Extremely Loud & Incredible Close. His name — Jonathan Safran Foer — for no good reason, played itself like a song, like life, over and over again in my mind. It sang:
Jonathan Safran Foer
Jonathan Safran Foer
Jonathan Safran Foer
Jonathan Safran Foer
Jonathan
Safran Foer
Jonathan Safran
Foer
Jonathan
Safran
Foer
Jonathan Safran Foer
Jonathan Safran Foer
Jonathan Safran Foer
Jonathan Safran Foer
Jonathan Safran Foer
It went on and on like this as I stared at people on the screeching PATH train, his name clanging against the orange seats and knocking into the dirty walls. And then, I wondered: Isn't that what they put in rice? And just as I wondered it, the woman across from me, in her jean jacket atop white sweater above black and white swirled skirt beyond flip-flops celebrating red-painted toes, pulled from her bag (whose looks I can't recall): Jonathan Safran Foer. "That's weird," I thought. I wish I could just tell you what Art Dudley says in his essays, but I guess it'll have to wait. You'll have to read it yourself. I'll tell you this, though: He reveals the key to getting the most out of your music. It has something to do with saying "I love you."
I love you.
