13 July 2011

The Gift

Every morning, I eagerly read the "kick in the butt" that comes by email from Runner's World. Sometimes it's disappointing - often because it comes from someone who might be well-known in the USA but remains unheard-of here. This morning was a good one, though:
Running is a gift I give myself almost every day. Even on those days when things haven't gone great, I can come home and give myself the accomplishment of a 30- or 40-minute run.
It comes from Arthur Blank, co-founder of the Home Depot, who I do know about as Home Depot was the subject of a presentation at INTA a few years ago - in Atlanta, I think, which would figure.

So, whatever goes wrong in a day, you can make one thing at least go right. An excellent idea.

The day already feels better for having listened to Velvet Underground. It's decades since I last played my copy of White Light/White Heat (which was very secondhand when I bought it) and I'd almost forgotten this gem. One or two lines came back to me though, and I realised it hadn't completely slipped my mind. The octopus bit, for one.  "That schmuck" for another. But I had to listen to the end for the punchline, which I'd forgotten. I found myself wanting to know how the story ended.

I hadn't realised that Waldo had been in transit for about three days - and I'm sure that the money he spent on the staple gun, let alone all the other stuff he needed (and which nowadays he could get from Home Depot), would have got him from the unlikely-sounding but real (though vanishingly small) Locust, Pa, to the even-less-likely-sounding Clarence Darrow, Wi, named after the great civil liberties lawyer, a distance of at least 600 miles but surely not that expensive by Greyhound. But then Lou Reed would have had nothing to write about, would he?


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