The plan was a weekend in New York, then get home in time to start my new job Monday morning. I'd make it to hear Spem at MoMA, shop at academy, eat at that Chinese Muslim restaurant out in Brooklyn, and feel very content on my way home. Then the blizzard came.
I fled the city, trying to stay ahead of the record snow. With some trepidation, I put disc 2 of Unjust Malaise on the hi-fi. Perhaps it was the wrong choice. 84 is such a mind-numbing highway, seemingly endlessly bland. Especially when driving its 120 miles alone, it's hard not to stay out of a stupor. The music would surely make it worse, with its own seemingly endless repetitions.
The opposite was true, though. If anything, the music brought the blandness of the driving into focus. It provided motion to what otherwise appeared still. (It's some achievment of the highway that 65 mph seems like not moving at all.) The endless road reached the Mass Pike quickly.
Surprisingly, I've found the antidote to I-84 in Connecticut.
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