12 July 2004
There are times in a man's life where that man's gotta do what that man's gotta do. And this man needed to take a DVD back to the library tonight.
Being my father's son, I grabbed three CDs to which to listen on my half-hour trek to the local branch and back. I say I'm "my father's son" not just to be pedantic but because he will assemble a collection of some ten times the runtime of music for all but the shortest car trips. He's got some thousand tapes and several hundred CDs, though, so he can get away with that sort of thing.
Me, I've got no tapes, six hundred CDs that are all still packed away and a handful from the library at any given time. So I grabbed the latest disc by Filter, something else and the soundtrack for Kill Bill, volume 1.
I was groovin' away for just about the whole trip to the library, thinking that Quentin had done another spot-on job of picking great tunes. Say what you will about what he puts on film, but his music tastes run sweet and deep. It was great walking music, even with the brief downpour and ensuing humidity.
It is a great soundtrack, up until the disco/mariachi rendition of "Don't let me be misunderstood". About halfway through that song everything turned sour and I didn't find anything else worth hearing thereafter. I spent the little bit of time remaining on my return journey scanning through the first several tracks again, having decided that the effort of opening my pocket and switching CDs was just too much to bear. There's a lesson to be learned there somewhere but damned if I know what it is.