Friday Night Once More

i'm done serving the eight obligatory hours to my television network master. i can now clock out and freely exit the guarded glass doors to enjoy a night out on the town with equally world-weary friends. and yet, like many other friday nights before, i find myself lingering in my office cubicle, compelled to make full use of the available internet and relative quiet in an otherwise busy, bustling environment.

***

last night i was listening to several enchanting tunes from a friend's playlist. it put me in the mood for intellectual sparring, the kind i've often enjoyed with a few close friends, covering every topic under the sun, from the serious, to the insane, and the seriously mundane, without fear of discrimination or rancor, with the passion and gusto of the young, the restless, and the fully self-expressed.

however, i walked to my car, and, having sat down in the driver's seat, i found myself instantly drained of all motivation. tonight, perhaps, shall be different. without the weight of work tomorrow looming over me, perhaps, tonight shall be different.

***

some time ago, i chanced upon an article in a broadsheet, about a wedding anniversary wherein the song of choice was "just the way you are" by billy joel. the lyrics were published in full, and it was the first time i had really read through them (as the song was popularized before my time. i know, it's not an excuse, but still...). i gained a new appreciation for the song, and what i thought it meant. i particularly like the last stanza, which goes "i don't want clever conversation/i never want to work that hard/i just want someone that i can talk to/i want you just the way you are". when i was younger, i took such great pride and joy in the lengthy conversations peppered with witty oneliners and scathing rebuttals (carried over from my high school days on the forensics a.k.a. debate team) that i often engaged in, not realizing how empty a lot of those words were, fueled merely by pomp, proving nothing. the song lyrics remind me that sometimes, less is more, simple doesn't mean typical and even a paper bag being blown by the wind can be poignant (given the proper scoring and cinematography, of course).

now, time for a symposium at my favorite haunt.