February 19 — For reasons I wish I knew so that I could make it stop, Journey has been stuck in my head for days. Sis had Journey on an eight-track tape and I used to listen to it for hours in her room, lying on the yellow-and-white-checked quilted comforter that my mother made for her. Eight-track is a format I did not understand at the time and still don’t, but it was a format that kept me listening more than any other, because during every micro silence in one song you could hear another song playing, and being as open to the power of suggestion as I was, I would stick around for that song, in a cycle that could be ended only by the call to dinner.
So I had the song "Lights" stuck in my head for days and days to the point where the next time I went to Target I broke down and picked up the double CD of Journey’s greatest hits. I’m incredulous that this band could fill two disks of greatest hits, actual, true, bona fide "greatest" hits. Or would it be greatest "hits"?
$20 lighter, I have the CD and can play "Lights" as many times as I must to until I purge it from my immediate consciousness. After multiple plays, my unquiet mind is mollified, and I can go on with my life. This so-called life includes the need to clean the kitchen to rid the eating area of doggie disgustingness and detritus, a task I prefer to undertake on Friday nights while listening to archived episodes of "This American Life." There’s something strangely soothing and therapeutic for me in ending the workweek, or is it beginning the weekend, with a clean and tidy kitchen.
Listening to an episode titled "In the Shadow of the City," I hear that the segue music for a tale of three very drunk Russians who manage to get stranded on a borrowed boat in Jamaica Bay is none other than "Lights."