Yesterday I started to get a gimpy leg. The whole back of my right leg from ass to heel was in some serious pain. Sciatic nerve, I think, although I have no idea why or how this happened.
So this morning I thought I had better get back to exercising, as it's been neglected for several days and the fat cells were starting to plan a coup. I opted for the elliptical machine over the bike, as it hurt less to stand than it did to sit.
Grimacing, I started to sweat it out on the machine. And then the Constantines started in on Hotline Operator. I lost myself in the groove and by the time the song had finished, so had the pain. I tell you, those guys have the power to heal! Seriously, can't you just see Bry Webb as an old-time fire-and-brimstone preacher? I would buy a bottle of elixir of that dude in a heartbeat. I mean, he fixed my gimpy leg and he wasn't even in the same room.
In keeping with our recent theme of rewatching old favourite films, we watched Fight Club again last night. I hadn't seen it for years and I didn't even realise that it ended off with the Pixies Where Is My Mind. How fucking perfect is that? I really need to read that book.
If you feel like weighing in on a discussion of how long new stories maintain their shelf-life and the rapidly decreasing collective attention span of our culture, please check out the piece I wrote for the Stroumboulopouli. I'd love to hear your opinion.
Here then, for your listening pleasure and for the good of your soul, is the music that healed me this morning.
Hotline Operator - the Constantines (from Tournament of Hearts)