Meeting of the minds

I was going to blog something about music and traveling today. I was going to do it after I finished a story that I will get paid for, because, you know, that is what I always do. Always with the important work before the Internets play time. So, when I was WRITING, I stumbled across a post by Tony Bourdain on WorldHum about ... music and traveling. Don't you just hate it when people who are, like, superior at life, go about stealing your ideas?

Even though I immediately was all, "Goddamnit. Surely the millions of people who traffic both WorldHum and my few-days-old blog will see an overly convenient connection and I'll look like a thieving schmuck," I could not blame Tony. He is my favorite celebrity traveler for any number of reasons which I might enumerate at some point here. I just don't have it in me to blame him for anything. I can't even find it in me to be jealous of him, and I am prone to disgusting fits of envy on a regular basis.

And then. And. Then. I started reading. First, he titles it with a play on Radiohead's "Subterranean Homesick Blues" and within two paragraphs, Tony tells me he is listening Depeche Mode's "World in My Eyes," and I could feel my brain cells exploding like fireworks—the shimmery kind that linger in the air and look like sparkling, golden starlight.

Image of the inside of my brain by Flickr user Tinto_101

And then he goes on, and he's charming like he is, and then he goes and talks about Pearl Jam's "Black" saying "a sadder song surely never written," and I think I experienced that thing where a parent sees their baby smile for the first time and they somehow, in a way they themselves cannot fathom, love fall MORE in love with something they loved with all their heart already.

Please, Tony, I and my 16-year-old self want to sit down with you and discuss the line "I know some day you'll have a beautiful life/I know you'll be the sun/In somebody else's sky/but why why WHYYYYY can't it be/why can't it beeeeee mine/AAHHAYYHAYYN/HOOO" and how emotionally destructive it is. Let's set a time, 'kay?

Ahem. And then I finished my story.

The end.