Click, click, click...

status check - Decent
background ambiance - Nothing of particular note

I just yawned and relished the opportunity to do so. Don't think I'll have time to do so again until maybe next Monday.

During the misadventured jaunt in Boston this weekend, Michelle and I rode in a car back to her flat. I was outlining the upcoming week. Every day through Friday is jam-bloody-packed. Ridiculously so. Once I make it to Friday, I'm golden.

Just need to make it there with most of my sanity in check.

"How are you feeling about that?" she asked me.

"Much like I'm at the top of a roller coaster hill," I replied. "Actually, no. I'm not quite at the top yet. The gears are making that slow clicking sound and my stomach's already starting to drop, even though the car is still moving up."

Consider this the final click before the plunge.

Streak. Broken

status check - annoyed
background ambiance - Clint acceptance speech

DAMN YOU, EASTWOOD!!!

Little gold men

status check - Self-loathing
background ambiance - Oscars

I was keeping track of my thoughts on the Oscars, until I realized I was 2-for-2 on the night and I was going to ruin my streak shortly. I decided to quit while I was ahead.

But quick notes:

- I fell in love with Chris Rock's hosting the second he started with "Sit yo asses DOWN!" (8:34 p.m. EST)
- Screens on the ceiling and the floor. Gratuitous, much?
- "Aviator" is kicking ass!
- Renee. Eat. You'll feel better. Trust me.
- The back of the house awarding? Beyond lame.
- NO MORE BEYONCE.
- I'm a big fan of the three-piece suit/tuxedo as a general rule (it's all about the vest, I'm a sucker for 'em). But put Orlando Bloom in a three-piece tuxedo and I'm down for the count. I focused on him, rather than Kirsten Dunst and her version of my haircut. Beth commentary: "Your hair is cuter. But yeah, they're sleeping together."
- Counting Crows = love. Beth on Adam Duritz: "He looks better from way back, like when we saw him at SPAC."
- "Sideways" wins its one award at 9:44. "Siderman 2" at 9:46.
- Michelle, you and I both know Jake is fine any damn way he wants his hair to be. Don't deny it.
- Did I mention no more Beyonce?

C'est la vie

status check - Bemused
background ambiance - Academy Awards pre-show

Had I been smart, I would have looked at the calendar, thought back three years and realized something would get screwed up with any attempt to go to a show.

Feb. 26, 2002 - The Providence John Mayer Debacle
Feb. 26, 2005 - The Boston "We have tickets oh wait no we still don't afterall" Averi Debacle.

Long story short? Wound up making an impromptu trip to Boston, thinking we'd scored tickets after all. Found out we didn't right about the time I saw the skyline.

Whoops!

But now? Oscars. I'm a junkie for them every year - this year's no different. Pre-show analysis? Don't dig Hillary's gown. Love Kirsten's. Laura Linney - NO TAUPE ON OSCAR NIGHT! Remember Jennifer Connelly!

And the annual Oscar predictions?

Best Picture - Million Dollar Baby
Best Director - SCORCESE! Finally!
Best Actor - Jamie Foxx
Best Actress - Hillary Swank
Best Supporting Actress - Cate Blanchett
Best Supporting Actor - Morgan Freeman

For Your Consideration

status check - Amused
background ambiance - Tristan Prettyman, "November"

It's the weekend and I'm officially in relaxation mode. On the horizon - writing, shopping and otherwise luxuriating before the chaos that begins on Monday.

But I leave you with this to mull over on the weekend, so you have something to tide yourselves over until I report back with the latest from the frozen north.

Whale-hunting in landlocked Utah

p.s. I'm on the lookout for plays to read. Suggestions from the theatrically-minded portion of the readership?

Propsects

status check - Pleased
background ambiance - The Charlatans, "Impossible"

Amazing how much easier it is to get through the mundane when you have things to look forward to. All the more so when it's great music.

Coming up:
3.3 - Martin Sexton (I've wanted to see him for years)
3.4 - Averi/Tides
3.17 - Ryan Montbleau (always a good time)
3.20 - Catie Curtis
3.23 - Cary Brothers (I still can't believe he's the opener for VC)
4.12 - Tori Amos (How can she try to top previous Tori shows? Solo. With Matt Nathanson opening. Solo. Swoon.)
4.14 - Ben Lee (first time seeing him since the car hood encore)

Made In England

status check - Decent
background ambiance - The Charlatans, "Impossible"

I rediscovered the Charlatans recently, after I found my copy of the Arcadia soundtrack.

My college theater department decided to produce the play during my senior year - after experiencing most of the backstage roles for several years, I was able to experience the process onstage. I played Chloe, the 18-year-old "old enough to vote on her back." British accent and all.

During the rehearsal process, my director asked the cast to make a list of music we listened to or thought of while getting into our characters and learning our lines. Ultimately, we each submitted a song or two for a compliation that became the house music and our soundtrack.

I'd started listening to the Charlatans right around the same time, and I'd become hooked on "The Blonde Waltz." I came to associate it with the character and, thus, added it to the soundtrack.

But I'd never been able to actually find the album on which it appeared.

Sometime between now and then, I forgot about it. Didn't even think about it until I popped in the Arcadia disc to rock out to "Shameless." The song came on and I was in disbelief about having let such a good song slip my mind.

Thanks to the wonders of Ebay (and my flatmate, who uses Ebay like it's her job), a small parcel from California arrived last night. I tore open the envelope and gleefully trilled over the "Made in England" sticker on back. "Us and Us Only"! It arrived!

And it's been worth the wait. The Charlatans have this quasi-Elliott Smith, quasi-Bob Dylan, quasi-Travis sound that just makes me happy.

In that British alternarock mellow and melancholy bittersweet way.

The whole world is like a postcard / Easy lost and easy to reach / And if this is where you're going / I will surely leave

Turn the dial

status check - Tired (but caffeinated - huzzah!)
background ambiance - Phish, "Down With Disease"

Don't expect much brilliance, wit or candor today - the day began at 6 a.m., I'm not a morning person and I consider consciousness to be a significant achievement.

That said. I've driven more in the last three days than...well, than I've driven in a long time without a trip to Boston involved.

I don't generally listen to the radio much these days - most of my favorites don't appear regularly (if ever) on the radio stations around here, so I just happily sing along to my CDs during travels. But, in my half-awake state early (eeeeeearly) this morning, I forgot to bring additional CDs with me for the day's travels. I only had one in the car. No matter how much I may enjoy an album, listening to it non-stop for a long period of time gets old. So I decided to give radio a shot. Random notes from this radio foray:

Kudos to one of the stations for busting out some Spin Doctors. I still can't listen to "Bigger Than My Body" without laughing, but I realized today that I don't mind the lyrics as much as I'd thought. It's just the falsetto in the chorus that really irks me. The Point's "Hot Lunch Special" was presented with a magic theme (and included Ben Folds Five, John Fogerty, Badly Drawn Boy and the Beatles! Hurrah!) and the female DJ has a lovely Irish accent. I was reminded that I do in fact like two (2) Phish songs, having forgotten about "Down With Disease."

As I made my way south (I wound up awfully close to SoVo), I was able to tune into my favorite Vermont radio station (EQX) and smile at the seemingly always brilliant playlist. I made a mental note to tune into the webcast upon returning north, to actually listen to a Vermont station instead of San Diego (for once).

But the most amusing discovery? "Coin-Operated Boy." I've listened to the Dresden Dolls before, but had somehow completely missed this song. But I was laughing out loud while cresting the hills during the trip back north...I loved it.

But, then again, might just be the fact that I'm exhausted and anything can make me laugh at this point. Who knows. I'll let you be the judge.

this bridge was written to make you feel smittener
with my sad picture of girl getting bitterer
can you extract me from my plastic fantasy
i didnt think so but im still convinceable
will you persist even after i bet you
a billion dollars that i'll never love you
will you persist even after i kiss you
goodbye for the last time
will you keep on trying to prove it?
i'm dying to lose it...
i want it
i want you
i want a coin operated boy.

Sigh

status check - Decent
background ambiance - Silence

Yesterday evening's excursion reminded me of one very crucial life truth.

There's no way you can be anything but relaxed when someone's washing your hair.

Get lost.

status check - Pleased
background ambiance - Ryan Montbleau, "Variety"

They told me to get lost, so I did.

For the past several hours, I've been driving. I ignored any highway signs and instead took to the backroads and byways I usually ignore for the sake of time. The point of it, I think, was to spend time wandering and exploring - looking down each sidestreet and past every possible landmark so they become as engrained in my mind as the usual places.

I decided to see how far roads actually go and what I'd find along the way. I've decided that I don't like reaching the dead ends - I prefer to imagine that the pavement carries on until they reach oceans, Canada or craggy mountains unwilling to allow their continuance.

Granted, craggy mountains aren't really New England's style, but my imagination's allowed to go a little crazy with something like that.

I really did succeed in getting lost a couple of times - as I wound up winding along a couple of rivers with absolutely no idea of where I was. Turned out that the twists and bends led me in a huge half circle, so that I wound up driving back into town at the end of a loop that surprised me.

It's interesting, the things you don't pay attention to most of the time. You're so focused on where you're going, what you need to do, that it's only when you've nothing to do that your eyes really open. So doing nothing winds up being incredibly productive.

Or insightful, anyway - which always winds up helping you out in the long run.

In other news. Snowdays are meant to be spent curled up underneath blankets with hot tea. Particularly when everyone else in the apartment (residents and teachers-on-vacation visitors) gets to have the day off. Getting into professional mode sucks when everyone else is in pajama mode.

Is it bad that I'd thought Hunter S. Thompson had already killed himself?

Now for something completely different...

status check - Thoroughly amused
background ambiance - Tristan Prettyman, "Toxic"

***Important concert news! See bottom.***

When I stopped at home to pick up my cell phone, I certainly wasn't expecting the voicemail that awaited...

I participated in an open casting call kind of thing while in D.C. nearly two years ago. I'd heard back shortly thereafter, and they'd said they were interested in me, but I'd have to hand over a hefty bit of change to do all the things they wanted me to do. Since it was kind of a fluke thing to even audition, I asked them to keep me posted and thanked them for their time.

So today I receive this message, completely out of the blue and they wanted me to come in for a screen test.

I've yet to call, but I'll have fun with it when I do. Sorry, guys, I moved to Vermont, but if you want to get someone up here, I'll do the screen test right away...

As I told my friends back then, I was laughing about how I'd changed my role in entertainment history from a "never was" to a "couldabeen."

But the call certainly made me smile.

In other news. Capitol Steps. Go see them. My flatmates and I were laughing and cheering from our spots in the front row at the Flynn last night - me particularly once a certain elected official made a cameo.

"The wheel's spinning, but the hamster's dead. Just gone."

And, THIS JUST IN! Ooh, this is a good one. Vermont scores a coup!

Mark your calendars. March 23. Cary Brothers at Higher Ground. No Boston dates announced (at this moment anyway) - New England's spots are only Burlington and Connecticut.

This'll be a fabulous show. Hit up the show and crash at Casa de Racca!

And, finally...YANKEESREDSOXTICKETS!!!!!

TGIFBRFMT

status check - Less than an hour to go
background ambiance - Marah, "East"

Now the traffic in the flashing shadows of the final glow
Are just a rush of burning chariots driven by the ancient lure of home.
And with my hands tucked deep down in my pockets
I see my own breadth in the light
Of the east that holds and soothes me
As I spin west into friday night...

Thank God It's Friday But Really For Me Thursday.
In case you were wondering.

Timing is everything.

status check - Surprised
background ambiance - Ryan Montbleau, "Honeymoon Eyes"

Random.

I received a couple of unexpected emails earlier this week and realized I had a couple people of my own that I wanted to at least attempt to get in touch with after a bit of an absence.

I held off on doing so, however - as the week's been a somewhat chaotic web of odd situations, encounters and the like. But I kept the people in mind.

This evening, I checked my old college email (also known as the black hole of spam) for the first time in weeks. Amid career spams, Dave Matthews Band spams, Howie Day spams and the like, I noticed a forward from one of the two people I'd thought of earlier in the week.

The forward was sent less than a week ago.

I took it as a sign and finally dashed off quick emails to both, complete with the ever-so-necessary "Hey, I was thinking of you the other day..." beginning.

I hope they at least put a smile on the faces of their intended readers.

Christmas Coal in February

status check - Frustrated
background ambiance - Averi, "Hide Away"

Biting my tongue.

Late Night

status check - Hyper
background ambiance - Silence

Thinking about it after the fact...odd how you get dispatched to something and you realize that you're going in when any sane person would be getting out.

Driving down the highway, I looked out onto the fields and hills to the side, looking for the burst of orange and white that would tell me I was getting close...

And then reaching my destination, quieting my nerves and walking up the road...a vehicle was approaching, so I hurried off the road and onto what looked like a thin layer of snow...

...and realized I'd jumped into a thick, deep pile of snowy slush. The realization came the moment my feet kept going through the snow and squished into the wet mass below. Up past the ankles, up over and into the boots.

Ever graceful and poised, what do I do? Simple. I try jumping out of the slush - into more slush. Repeat previous steps three times until I make it back to the road.

Fun? Oh, you betcha...

In other news. I randomly (very randomly, actually) started humming Laundry's "Rock and Roll Stars" song this evening. And realize I couldn't remember anything but the chorus. Anyone who's heard that song remember the lyrics? I keep thinking of "Keith Moon is getting high with Bob Marley...(forget who) is riding up on his Harley." And "Sid Vicious is (forget what), breakin' all my stuff, Jim Morrison's in the corner, just tryin' to get drunk."

Clutch Hours

status check - Laughing
background ambiance - TV (Catching up on "Scrubs" - Viva la Tivo!)

You can feel it approach, the moment you start to wonder if you have a fever.

It's late at night, of course, so there's no one awake to assure you that the apartment's just warmer than usual. You're sitting on the couch, feeling your forehead with an equally flushed hand (because for whatever reason, you think you'll be able to tell) and you start to worry that you're getting sick.

There's nothing you can do about it, other than worry.

And the clutch hours have arrived. You retreat to your bedroom, where you toss and turn, unable to sleep but completely unwilling to open your window to let the cold in. It'll be too cold and you'll wind up feeling worse.

Not being able to do anything about this makes you start thinking about other things, none of which you can control. Before long, you're convinced that you're going to have a bad week. A band month. A bad series of years until, before you know it, you're middle-aged in a place by yourself with no one around to tell you if you have a fever or if the apartment's just too warm.

Somewhere in the midst of this self-doubt, as you clutch a pillow, you drift to fitful sleep.

And then you wake up in the morning, smile at the sunshine coming through your window and the drip-drop sound of the snow melting outside. You're feeling energized and bound out of bed, into the living room for a morning batch of pilates that leaves you feeling stretched out and relaxed.

With several hours before your atypical work week begins, you realize you can catch up on the episodes of "Scrubs" you haven't seen yet - and you burst into laughter upon seeing Zach Braff barechested, doing the Sprinkler in shiny green Hammer pants.

Then you remember the previous night's apprehension and stop for a moment to ponder.

Huh.

Ooh! Zach's wearing a Flava Flav clock around his neck! Hilarious!

Guess the apartment was just too warm last night.

Great Minds...

Great Minds...
Originally uploaded by alternacoustic.

I bought my flatmates a card for Valentine's Day, since I saw it and thought it was perfect. I gave it to them this evening.

Beth opened it, saw the cover and instantly smirked. Without looking inside, she marched off to her room and returned with a red envelope with my name on it. I looked inside and burst into laughter.

As you can see from our television display...

Song of the Year?!

status check - shocked
background ambiance - tv - grammy awards

Two years later and my surprise/shock is about the same.

I didn't get the "Your Body Is A Wonderland" nod - certainly don't get the "Daughters" craze. He even said he didn't think it should have been a single!

My jaw's still dropped.

SoVo

status check - Happy
background ambiance - Rilo Kiley, "Portions For Foxes" live (10.5.04)

I like to beat my parents home during trips to SoVo. They work most weekends and we make plans to meet up at the house around the time they get home, but I'll generally schedule things so I'm home about an hour before they are. It gives me a chance to look around and smile without having to explain the grin. They always tell me over the phone that they're mixing things up at the house, that it'll look different next time I make the trip - they then get playfully indignant when I reply that things there never wind up looking too mixed up. It's always the same.

In their defense, the place is starting to look different. They'll soon begin bringing some things down to Massachusetts - part of the slow move back to the North Shore that'll probably be completed within a year, two at the most. Things aren't in the same places anymore, as more space (read: less stuff) provides my mother opportunity to get creative in her design. I can tell she's checking off items on her ideal design checklist and making headway - even some of the photos she's been saying she needs to frame for years now have the pewtwer-styled borders she hadn't been able to find.

The things that make me smile - the things that remind me of home - are still the same. A small stack of newspapers are still on the coffeetable - I know my mother has saved them for me because some stories have stood out for her, whether written by myself or someone else. The fleece blanket she always tries to send me home with is folded in the rocking chair - she and I both know that I'll conveniently forget it again because I know she likes it. The game balls and trophies my brother and I earned during high school are still on display on the hutch, right next to the photo of my brother, father and I at the Red Sox victory parade in October. An envelope with tickets to Spring Training games are placed there, too, right in the spot for upcoming trips.

Dad has his golf schedule posted on the refrigerator, placed so he can see it each time he passes through the kitchen. He also has his box of Mike and Ike on hand (and he knows there will be a few missing when he arrives home), and Mom has a bag of Hersey's Kisses in the refrigerator because chocolate always tastes better cold.

He's still clearly trying to convince me that he's going to read the copy of "The Rule of Four" I let him borrow - it's right on the hallway table. Surprising to no one, more progress has been made in the copy of "One Day at Fenway" I gave him for Christmas.

Mom's found more of my college keepsakes and has them in a box for me in my room, in case I want to bring them with me on the return trip.

The bed's made with two pillows and an extra comforter, just the way I like it.

Back downstairs, the piano's positioned where the computer table used to be, and vice versa. A copy of the program for "Midsummer" is on the piano - I don't know if its intentional, the way there's always a theater program casually placed in that area when I come home. I like to think it's their way of reminding me not to give up on the criticism gig.

For now, I'm going to curl up in a blanket and watch TV until they come home and I hear my mother say, "HellOOOOO..." She's going to good-naturedly tease me about my hair (she always prefers it long), Dad's going to try to get me to fix whatever quirky thing the computer's been doing.

So yeah, the place may look a little different, but nothing's really changed. Still home.

Nothing can be nice, too.

status check - Relaxed
background ambiance - The Postal Service, "Nothing Better"

My friends tease me about my wanderlust all the time.

I don't know when it developed, but somewhere along the way, I got it into my head that it's necessary to keep moving. Doing. Experiencing. Just sitting back? Wasteful use of time.

I think that's one of the reasons I want to once again dwell in a city. During my Washington days, I'd often wind up going out to explore - whether it was wandering in a museum (how I miss the National Gallery!) or seeing a new part of town, there was always something to do, something to see. I couldn't get over the fact that I could do something different each weekend and not repeat myself unless I really wanted to.

Which, upon discovering the Matisse tower at the Gallery, I did. But I maintain that anyone would.

I have to be reminded to rest and just be for awhile. To savor the moment without a need to rush. That I don't need to hop into a car and go somewhere - I can just relax and do nothing for a change.

Today? Pick up iced caramel lattes on the way home to watch "Edward Scissorhands." Write some emails I'd been meaning to write, write some stories I've had percolating in my mind. Cook dinner with my flatmates and see what the evening has in store. Blare Keane while flatmates are out, thus pretending I was at the Orpheum show last night. Sing along to The Postal Service because it makes me feel good. Read Cosmo and laugh at how easy it is to fall into the glossy stories.

Temporarily battle the wanderlust and try out that whole "be content for the moment" concept. See how it fits. See if it suits me.

ISO

status check - Annoyed
background ambiance - Beth talking in other room

The good news: Looks like Averi has sold out The Paradise yet again.

The bad news: I leaned today that I don't have the tickets to Paradise after all.

Quick Dispatch

status check - Thankful for Friday
background ambiance - 91X (Loving Internet Webcasts)

A quick burst of random thoughts on a Friday:

- Pete resumed his Musical Movie Reviews a few weeks ago (I believe), but I haven't been able to catch one, that is, until today. Those of us in EST can listen by tuning in to 91X around 11 a.m. I love the station anyway, but being able to hear the familiar sound of "Welcome to 91X's Movie Fone" was a huge bonus today. Reviewed "Hitch," cracked me up. The problem with this, however, was that I couldn't laugh out loud. Trying to suppress laughter in a serious environment always makes me laugh all the more. For a newsy look at the reviews, check out the City Beat. For past reviews, check out Pete's archive. For generally good music that makes you smile, learn more about Pete. He's fabulous - and he thinks I'm hot. I've got the button to prove it.

- Does the fact that I wasn't born until 1980 mean I can't know anything about good, classic rock? I wound up jumping into a conversation about Jim Morrison today, after people were trying to remember how he died. Everyone was surprised to realize they didn't know - but they appeared flat out shocked that I knew it was from a heart attack/drug overdose (depending on who you ask) in Paris.

What, am I only supposed to know about Debbie Gibson and New Kids on the Block? Or is it just the Dave Matthews Band? Come on - we're talking The Doors here!

- Razorlight. "Golden Touch." I'm really enjoying the song. Oddly enough, kind of reminds me of The Doors.

- Jeff Buckley. I made reference the other day to a mix CD I'd made that included his cover of "Three Is A Magic Number" (Yes. Schoolhouse Rock.). I've been thinking about the song ever since - but I don't have it anymore. The mp3 I had was from the Mercury Lounge, NYC, 1995. Anyone know where I can find it?

Death of a Wordsman

status check - Saddened
background ambiance - Phones

Arthur Miller is dead.

The Basics

status check - shocked
background ambiance - TV

Since I've been living in a vacuum the last couple of days, I was completely oblvious to the blog-dom outcry about Jeff Gannon, the White House Press Corps reporter (if one chooses to call him that) turned hack. Short story? Gannon's not his real name, he was an online reporter for a GOP-owned news site and he quit shortly after being outed by a vicious group of bloggers.

For more information, check out the Post column here.

My opinion on the matter is pretty simple. Perhaps overly simplified because of the day job, but nevertheless...

HE LIED.

Journalism is based on integrity. You provide an accurrate story so as to inform your readership. If you can't even provide your real name, you've got no business going near anything at all related to journalism.

Because people like Gannon? They're the ones the public remembers when they think about journalists. Not the thousands busting their asses to do a good, honest job.

He opened himself for whatever he hell comes his way.

In other news. The return of the snow. We all know I'm not a fan of the white stuff, but even I fall prey to the allure of it as it dances down from the sky. So, as I walked to my car this evening, I let myself enjoy the sensation of tramping my feet through the snow, feeling sharp little cold bursts fall on my face. I even laughed as some of the snow made its way into my boots. It was fun to feel like a little kid for a few moments.

Then I got to my car, realized I needed to brush the snow off the beast (for the second time), climbed inside, felt my now damp sock and realized driving the car up the hill was going to be a real challenge.

My grown-up hatred for winter came back with a vengeance.

status check -
background ambiance -

from the archives.

Thursday, November 8, 2001

i now have ryan cabrera mp3s. i approve very much of all the praise i've been hearing as of late. very very good. new singer to follow...yippee!

This was back when "Elm Street" was about to be independently released. I admit that I haven't listened to Cabrera in years. I haven't listened to "Take It All Away" and I have no desire to. But I loved the "Elm Street" material at the time. And I remember my jaw dropping, several years later, upon watching MTV one evening. "That guy ... he IS Ryan!"

What's amusing is that I encouraged Chris to try booking him for the Coffeehouse about a week after I made first reference to him on the blog.

Now that I don't listen to him anymore? He's playing Higher Ground in March.

Haha.

Merci, Danke Schoen, etc. etc. etc.

status check - Infinitely Better
background ambiance - Beth singing "Lala" (Don't ask. I explain.)

It was a long, frustrating day in which nothing bad per se happened, but everything was (we interrupt this blog for a demonstration for Beth of recent typing problems: fajkjaiejivaj the fjakj ieiaeiei cat vkjaiejieajeiije. We now resume this blog) just a series of annoying events that left me ready to combust. It happens to everyone from time to time. Today was apparently my day.

But thanks are in order, as I'm preparing to end the day from hell with a smile I wouldn't have predicted three hours earlier.

So, in a very specific, chronological order, I thank the following:

- my mother
- Beth
- Debbie Gibson (although she shattered my childhood in the process, it was funny as hell to hear about the Playboy thing)
- my brother
- Ashlee Simpson (for the ever-amusing "Lala")
- "The West Wing" (my day might have blown, but at least a British airplane wasn't shot down by Iranian fighter jets - at least, not that I'm aware of.)
- Chuck and the makers of Rubix Cube
- Matt Nathanson and, thanks to his "You all make me want to lala" journal entry signoff,
- Ashlee Simpson

Question for the ages: How does one dance to "Lala"? You can give it a shot, but I doubt you'll come up with anything funnier than Beth's attempt. "It really stretches your neck. Better than yoga."

Funny thing, trust. I have a hard time of it with most. It takes a lot for me to open up. But with a select few? I'm not just an open book, I'm an open book with page corners bent, lines highlighted and scribbed down notes in the margins.

"And little Post-It Note bookmarks!"

Yep, those too.

Guard

status check - Annoyed
background ambiance - Ryan Montbleau, "Stretch"

Should I take it as a sign?

Despite all the rambling I post on here, I don't often do much in the way of really opening up. The soul-searching stuff remains in notebooks and composition books no one sees but me.

I just wrote a post here describing the writer's block I've encountered with that writing. I actually opened up a little bit about it - opened up a little bit about me. Felt kind of good to write.

I go to post it...

And Blogger crashes.

Big B, Indeed

status check - Surprised
background ambiance - Averi, "Revealed"

We've officially made it, my fellow urban Vermonters.

We have our own Craigslist.

We are now a certifiable metropolis. Or something.

Let the snarky posts about co-workers and fellow citizens begin! I wait with bated breath.

In other news. I've always prided myself on being the double threat - good writer, good typist. But over the last couple of days, I've started doubting myself. After finishing up a piece just now, I clicked on spellcheck...

andd reeealized i realle sucked outt on thee speeling acurRacy thing/

OK, not that badly, but still...

"OK, go ahead"

status check - Decent
background ambiance - Averi, "Mouthfull of Sand"

What can I say? It's Tuesday. Tuesdays are generally blah and annoying. Add to that the fact that it's a rainy blah and annoying Tuesday. I'm looking for some form of a silver lining here.

So...happy Averi CD Release Day?

For the record, I still haven't figured out precisely why albums are released on Tuesday. I have my own ideas - something to do with the weekend and whatnot, but the official reason? No clue. Anyone in the know care to enlighten me on the reasoning behind it?

Whatever the reason, however, here we are on a Tuesday with Averi's "Drawn to Revolving Doors" out. Officially. Funny to think that it's been three years since I bought my last completely-new-to-me Averi album. It makes me feel old.

An ancient 24. That's me.

Anyway. For those who haven't taken a listen yet but are familiar with the band, let me offer this bit of advice: give it a few listens before you make up your mind.

I have to remember that, after picking up "Direction of Motion" at the benefit show, I didn't like "Discovering the Truth About Oz." And now it's one of my favorites.

So when I first received my copy of DTRD, I wasn't sure what to think. It wasn't what I expected ... I just didn't know what those expectations were.

After some time to really listen to it, I'm digging it. Sure, there are things I'm not crazy about (the use of filtered vocals, "The Brighter Side" among them, but more on that later), but overall? A strong, catchy album that makes me smile. I don't see the shades of Gavin and Michael Tolcher I read about in some reviews (nor, for that matter, Hoobastank or Jason Mraz), but I do agree that it's a polished collection of songs with tight hooks and infectous melodies.

Particular standouts: "For Better Or Worse," of course (and this coming from the girl who has hated to love/loved to hate that song for months); "When You Gracefully Creep In"; "Hide Away"; "Goodnight, Goodbye". Moments I enjoy: the breakdown in "Mouthfull of Sand" shortly before "I didn't find it in religion..."; the harmony on the last note of "The shallow waters we wade in" in "Attention To Details"; any moment with saxophone; the harmonies (always one of my favorite things about Averi's sound).

As I said, some things? Not so much. "The Brighter Side" doesn't move me, nor do moments of over-produced polish. We've determined that I'm a live music kind of girl. Anything that can't be translated to a stage, I'll happily do without. But I recall Howie Day discussing "Stop All the World Now," in which he said the production was a bit over the top, but he didn't care. He wanted to use strings, he could afford to use strings, so he did use strings. I kind of look at it the same way as the filters with DTRD. I'm OK with it because it doesn't affect the sound so much I no longer enjoy it.

But as a complete package - Strong. Good. Enjoyable. Check it out. Let me know what you think.

Speaking of checking Averi out, head over to the website - new design. I realized today that it was the fourth design I've seen ... like I said. I'm ancient.

Overall, I like the look. I think Stuart and Matt deserve more visibility on the banner image. But the design and color scheme is lovely. Kudos to the desinger.

But...well...Averiators?

*cough*A-Team*cough*

In other news. Did you know Necco makes Sweethearts gum?

Getting it out

status check - Beyond bored
background ambiance - Averi, "For Better or Worse"

I suppose the timing works out about right. A week before Valentine's Day and everyone starts talking about it. Which means I start to come up with creative ways of ignoring it (the mature version of covering my ears and singing "LALALA I CAN'T HEAR YOU LALALA").

But I'm reminded every year that there's no way of hiding from the hearts and the candy and the diamond commercials and Hallmark cards. I might as well accept that it's coming and deal with it.

So I'm getting all my V Day tirades out in the open a little early this year. Perhaps it'll be cathartic. Let's see.

I don't believe in Valentine's Day, but not because of the typical reasons people give for hating it.

Yes, it's materialistic and has morphed into a celebration of the exploitation and flaunting of love. Yes, it's something seemingly designed to make people in love feel special and fine-and-even-happy-with-being-single people wish they weren't alone. Yes, it's impossible to find anything to do to keep your mind OFF of Valentine's Day on February 14.

I just happen to believe that, were I to have a so-called Valentine, I wouldn't want him to partake in all hoopla on February 14. It's overrated. It's easy. It's expected. I wouldn't care if it was a day in December or a day in July - he could pick a random day on the calendar, not warn me ahead of time and then do something special. Because he wants to, not because he feels he has to.

Those who say they're not a fan of Valentine's Day often receive a pitious gaze from the believers. You just don't get it, they say.

Well, I don't and I'm proud of that. I don't get the whole fuss. I don't need to circle February 14 in order to be a romantic. I don't need more chocolates when I'm still on a sugar buzz from the Christmas holiday. I don't need a reason to wear red - I wear it all the time.

I've never had a particularly memorable Valentine's Day. Guess what? I survived! I'm fine with it! And if you need to be given a particular day of the calendar year so you can remind to tell your loved one how much you care, you've got bigger problems than the cynic label you're attaching to me.

That said, I hope everyone who does go out and celebrate (or stays in and celebrates, as the case may be) has a lovely time. Jason Mraz wrote about Valentine's Day last year and I remember loving what he said. Snippets are included here (as his journal entries are, like much great writing, often composed of various themes weaving together in the end...)

St. Valentine is honored for continuing to marry lovers without the approval of the church. He was busted and beheaded on the 14th of February. ...
I like to think of this calendar event occurring because of birds. Birds choose their mates in Mid-February. We look up to birds. We envy them. So, we eat candy in hopes of getting some kind of a lift. ...
Happy Beheading to you and yours, may you be successful in finding your bird..."

Spring-time Delusions

status check - Fabulous
background ambiance - The Thermals "What We Know" (Damn you, Michelle!)

Maybe this is why I can't give up on New England.

After abandoning any hopes of feeling anything less than frozen until June, I'm happy to say Mother Nature has given us a reprieve for the last week or so. It started off Wednesday and has continued through today, despite the fact that I've been convinced it will revert to winter at any instant.

Until that moment comes, however, I'm soaking up the sunshine as much as I can. I gleefully abandoned even thinking about wearing a sweater today and, even, left the wool winter coat at home.

I hate winter with a passion - but I love spring's warm and inviting return. Even if this particular spring weather's sure to be a cruel tease.

The weekend in Boston was precisely what I needed after a long week gone by. I had a chance to relax. Sleep in. Sip my caramel iced lattes (my newest addiction) during an evening completely devoted to writing - well, writing and singing/laughing along to the coffeehouse's piped-in mix of Celine Dion, Snoop Dogg, UB40, matchbox twenty (the lone saving grace) and gems last heard on the Beverly Hills 90210 soundtrack.

I bought a new notebook and have decided to implement the strict "write for the sake of writing" practice so many of my favorites use/used. Every day, ideally for an hour - take what's on my mind and put it into something resembling a short story.

If you haven't seen "Coffee and Cigarettes" yet, do so. And let me know, so I don't feel like the last person on the planet to finally see it.

And then we have the Patriots. Yet another Super Bowl victory. I thought for sure something was going to happen to make them drag Vinatieri out for another last-second field goal ... glad they didn't.

That said, I should confess that I only watched selected portions of the game. I'm just not a football fan - never have had a need to be (no football team in high school or college), never had an interest to (was traumatized by parents' fascination with fantasy football growing up and still revel in being able to watch what I want on Sunday and Monday evenings now that I'm on my own). I usually watch the Super Bowl - particularly when New England's in it, but I'm there mostly for the commercials and the halftime show. Both of which SUCKED this year. I'm sorry, I like the Beatles and, thus, Paul McCartney as much as any appreciative music fan does. But some things should remain sacred - and a singalong of "Hey Jude" at the SUPER BOWL?!?! No no no. American football. British Beatle. Does not compute.

Don't even get me started on the use of "Sunday Bloody Sunday" ...

But finally. On a good, humorous note. Next time I'm in the area, someone's got to go with me to JP - we're going to get coffee at Java Jo's.

The name association cracked me up with I read it in the Phoenix ... Until I can get to SD and get that drink at Java Joe's, at least I can jokingly pretend.

Notes From the Coffeeshop

status check - Grand
background ambiance - Tristan Prettyman, "Love Love Love"

Transcribed from jibberish written at a Quincy coffeeshop - between laughing with Michelle and the baristas about the satellite "Best of 90s" mix piped through the house

The setting has changed - the flourescent lights of campus housing dimmed to darkness broken only by an illuminated bar and TV screens. Bright colors and patterns have been replaced by black as the color of choice, each dark item topped with different hairstyles, more makeup or closer-shaven faces. The tables and chairs around you hold strangers with jobs and career ambitions. No more classmates struggling with course requirements to be found in your presence.

You focus your gaze on the new and, seemingly, improved faces of old friends in this new location. The familiar players in an unfamiliar context discuss with your their post-graduate lives and you can commiserate. Student loans, rent, the oppression discovered while climbing the ladder or, in some cases, trying to decide on a ladder to climb. You appear to have, appallingly, matured.

That said, you're back together on a Friday night - with your college drinking buddies still ready for release on the weekend. Maturity, you're relieved to realize, only takes you so far.

You're nervous at first, taking this journey down memory lane. You've equipped yourself with the many memories of weekend misadventures. They're all carefully tucked away within reach when pangs of nostalgia take hold. But the comfortable nature of those past encounters is not guaranteed - you wonder how you will feel if you don't fit into your worn and easy niche like you did before.

The apprehension melts as you settle into rounds of hugs and mutual compliments. The smiles feel warm and genuine as you climb onto your stool at the bar - the one they said they saved for you.

Conversations are temporarily halted by cheers when more of your crew arrives. Everyone, save you, has returned to or moved to Massachusetts - your cheeks flush happily as they urge you do the same. It feels good to be wanted somewhere you want to ultimately be.

You settle into small groups, each carrying on a revolving series of conversations. It's easier to speak loudly to a few people over the clamor of other patrons. With The Playwright's dark paneling and long narrow design, you imagine the bar to be longer than reality would dictate. You don't know how far back to room goes, but you imagine distant clusters of friends doing the same thing yours is.

A group actually does merge with yours for a bit - as a group of guys infiltrates your female-heavy crowd. You and a friend are invited to play a few rounds of the computer trivia game located by you - that game designed to eat up your money after a few rounds at the bar. The guy leaning next to you at the computer screen is an Eagles fan, but you'll let it slide for the time being - all the more so after he asks if he can buy you a drink. You're both feeling the effects of your drinks, but he's cute and but you're able to refute the arguments he's making for why Philadelphia is bound to win come Sunday. You laugh as he realizes he's losing the argument, but keeps trying anyway. It's all playful fun - on your side, at least. He buys you another drink and interrupts his Eagles description to tell you you're gorgeous. You remember just how pleasant it feels to be complimented by a stranger. You carry on for a bit more, until it becomes clear that the Eagles/Patriots obstacle would be too much to overcome - or so you tell him. It's really just that he's getting obnoxious and you want to talk with your friends. But it's fun while it lasts - you wonder if he'll remember the next day.

You celebrate a friend's progress toward becoming a lawyer. You catch up with another you haven't seen since graduation. Has it really been almost three years? You discuss your job and see eyebrows raised in appreciation. You laugh with the funny, animated bartender you've always wanted to order from, but had never found at a bar before. You feel like The Playwright was created just so your group could come together for the night - it feels familar, like somewhere you could go on a regular basis and be guaranteed a good time. Even the cheesy computer games always say you're a winner at the end, no matter how many times you accidentally click the wrong buttons. Hey, it's all good - you weren't paying.

You set up plans to meet up again soon - you exchange hugs to those starting to depart and promise to write, call, stay in contact better than you have before. You know the odds of it are slim, but you've mentally circled a date on the calendar when you'll be able to laugh and catch up again.

After you're one of two left from the group, you set your glasses back on the bar, say goodnight to the bartender and walk out, turning on the sidewalk back toward the apartment a few blocks away. You navigate the huge piles of melting snow that make the streets look like a winter battleground - laughing as you recall bits of the evening and fill in the other on the portions they couldn't hear from their places.

It's a warm evening and you feel heady and saucy - but more than anything, you just feel comfortable. Everything worked out as it was supposed to and you mentally thank the friends, the strangers, the bartender and the stars for shining all the while.

In other news. I came across a quasi-blogged suggestion to check out The Shore. Since I had a little time to kill before embarking on the Great Massachusetts Caper, I decided to pick the album up and take a listen. And, to my delight, I'm pleased with the purchase (which was coupled with the re-purchase of Keane because it's among those in my missing CD book). I spent a portion of travel time on 89 trying to figure out how to describe the sound - the best I've come up with is that if you were to take the Howie Day/Stereophonics tour last year and discover that the musicians got drunk on the back of the tourbus one night and procreated, The Shore would be that offspring. Since I love both HD and S, I'm loving the results.

Also musically speaking, The Postal Service has managed to improve upon an already astounding song ... it's been well established that "The District Sleeps Alone Tonight" is one of my favorite songs - partly because it's brilliant, partly because I feel that warped "Wait! DC! I was there! I totally get what you're saying!" affinity toward it. But I was introduced this evening to a remix that appears on the (equally brilliant) Sup Pop: Patient Zero compliation ... the pace of the vocals are slower and focus on Jenny's high harmony (and anything with more Jenny is a good thing, in my opinion), but it's juxtaposed by a fast electronic house beat. And works, in a bizarre way I wouldn't have expected. Which naturally made me echo the thoughts of indie girls everywhere, exclaiming out loud for the first time, "Jesus, I just fucking ADORE Ben Gibbard! But I feel like a walking cliche for even thinking that."

And, finally, take a listen to The Thermals' "How We Know." Absurdly addictive.

You spoon water like love and I will take it...

Daydream believer

status check - Flushed. Warm. Roasting.
background ambiance - Phones rigning

V here, reporting once again from directly below the air vent in the midst of Sauna Country. The pairing of my common sense and the warmer (this is relative) weather outside has made me wisely avoid wearing sweaters or other particularly warmer clothing whenever I find myself at this computer. But today, the sleeves on my (relatively lightweight) turtleneck are pushed up to the elbows. No one can see that I've rolled up the legs of my jeans (and feel like Huckleberry Finn as a result). And it's still so damn hot.

Normally, I can battle through the heat - better than no hot air at all, right? But it's Friday, it's mid-afternoon, it's warm. Of course I feel ready to curl up under this corner desk and take a nap.

The mid-afternoon doziness has prompted this little stream of memories to start flowing through my mind. Really random things I haven't thought about in awhile, but all thinly linked to something going on or on my mind. After trying to block them out for awhile, I finally decided to just give myself a little time to dwell on them and then get back to waiting for calls from people who don't want to call me.

It all started as I tried to remember if I'd forgotten anything for this weekend at home. I always wind up forgetting something stupid - contact case, cell phone charger, driver's license - and realize it once I hit, say, the I-93 onramp.

So as I ran through my mental checklist (pleased to note that I think I remembered everything for once), I started thinking about the trip and the moment when I round the 93 bend and see my first glimpse of skyline. Which, inexplicably, made me try to remember my earliest memories of Boston.

Before the Vermont move, my family would sometimes forgo the whole train route and drive from the North Shore into the city for our various little family events - Disney on Ice at the Garden, a Red Sox game, whatever. I only have scraps of memory of the actual events, but I vividly remember this small tunnel on the highway somewhere near Lynn. As my inner child remembers it, before the tunnel, Boston was nowhere to be seen. But if I closed my eyes and held my breath during those 15 seconds were were underground, we'd come out of the tunnel and see the skyline spread out before us. I became convinced that if I didn't go through the routine, Boston wouldn't appear.

Granted, at that point, you could have told me any big building was part of Boston and I'd believe you. Which, I assume, is what my parents did to get me to stop asking if we were there yet. "Yep, sure. Here we are. Boston. Another half hour before we get to the part of Boston we want to be in."

I can recall the bright light that poured through windows at Mass General as we took my great-uncle there for treatment or checkups - I remember thinking that these were city windows, because they were big ones. Little towns, little windows.

I remember the Children's Museum and a huge telephone that was there. I was fascinated by the damn thing.

I remember parts of what I think was my first Red Sox game ... I believe they played Detroit, and I sat with my parents and my uncle on the first base side of the park. A man several rows back caught a popup foul ball with one hand - which I found terribly impressive until I looked back later and saw him wincing as he cupped that hand with his other.

I remember walking from Kenmore to Fenway for another game - a later one - as my father recounted the crowd at games when he was younger. On one occasion, the crowd streaming toward Fenway was so thick and pressed against each other, he said, that he was just picked up, squished between the shoulders of two tall men, and carried down a set of sidewalk stairs. His feet never touched the ground. And as he told the story, by those stairs, he swooped down, firmly grasped each of my arms, and carried me down the stairs, me laughing all the while.

If my memory serves me correctly, that was the first time I decided that I loved Boston.

...

status check - Exasperated
background ambiance - Gregory Page, "Bon Voyage Mon Cheri"

...And music fills the air
And poets paint words to share
Soon it will be time to go.

Is this the place for me,
Far across the Altantic Sea?
Bon voyage, mon cheri...
- GP

I'd almost forgotten how much I love GP music - this song in particular. It's serving as a much-needed soothing influence.

In other news. Counting down the hours until I can:

Get in the car.
Turn onto the highway.
Get out of town.

Highs, lows and February 2

status check - Tired-wired
background ambiance - Rilo Kiley, "Portions For Foxes"

I burst into tears on the highway yesterday afternoon.

It was my third consecutive day delving into the lives of those mourning loss or recovering from tragedy. I'd been able to keep myself composed throughout it all - allowing myself only carefully phrased words and compassionate expressions. I'm not supposed to show anything else, no matter how many people around me are crying, no matter what kinds of sobs I heard over the telephone.

Whoever says it gets easier with time and experience is either lying or trying to fool himself. It doesn't get easier - you just figure out what to say, what to avoid, and how to prepare yourself for what's about to come. It can't become easy to see or hear people cry.

So, as I drove back to town yesterday, I let myself release everything that had been pent up. I blared sad music and just sobbed myself silly. I cried with a mother, I cried with a grandchild, I cried with a wife. It was just after the fact.

I felt better at the time. And, when I got out of work early and received an invitation to partake in a random roadtrip, I thought I'd feel even better.

Johnoghue is preparing to embark on the Great Boston Relocation, so I was psyched when he suggested driving to Killington for Averi's set. I always enjoy our sporadic meet-up-and-hang-outs, and last night was likely to be the last opportunity before he moves. The call came just as I was putting on my coat to leave the office - he picked me up outside the building and we hit the road. As we passed through Middlebury, I laughed to myself, realizing the February 2 tradition had surely enough continued. I once again hadn't sought out an adventure - it found me.

I'm glad it did, although I'm feeling the sleep deprivation today. Worth it, I've been thinking to myself all day.

Let's face it, my Averi frustration/cynicism as of late has been glaringly apparent. I've been honest, I've been bitchy, I've been puzzled, I've been exasperated. And I've made the whole thing quite clear here.

That said, I had a great time at last night's show. The band played before a small crowd (Killington? Weeknight? Yeah.) but delivered a strong, energized performance. Several songs off the new album, a couple off "Direction of Motion."

The guys seemed in sync while all doing their own thing. I grinned as I watched each of them focus so intently on the moment ... Stu's face scrunching up during a guitar solo, Michael's grin as he beat the shit out of the tamborine, Chris rocking back and forth, Matt nodding his head during a particularly intense drum breakdown, Chad with his head down while on rhythm guitar (yes, guitar! Hurrah!) - and the sheepish smile during "Flutter."

I have no problem pointing out perceived flaws in a performance that doesn't thrill me, but it's hard to point out what works when the group is on. It's not that any of them did anything particularly out-of-the-ordinary compared to the other good shows I've attended. It was just that the band shone.

Michael Tolcher? It was ... the third time I'd seen him performing with someone else I'd wanted to see. I never mind his sets, but they don't move me. Too shiny happy person for my taste - although I always try to give him a chance, to see if it clicks with me. It just never does.

But it worked well enough for the evening - at that point, there had already been enough to make My Day '05 an unexpected success. An adventure with a friend, familiar faces, good music and the chance, after days of focusing on death and sadness, to just be happy.

Speaking of happiness...Boston this weekend.

Ignore the groundhog

status check - Groovy
background ambiance - Ryan Montbleau, "Stretch"

Wednesday afternoon. On the homestretch of the workweek, you tell yourself. You push open the heavy glass door and step into the sunshine, instinctively pulling your wool jacket closer to block the cold breezes.

No need. Sunlight glints off the melting scene outside. Puddles glisten, walls sparkle was rivulets of water trickle from roof to sidewalk. Seeing the wet brick walkways, visble as the exception rather to the winter rule for the past several weeks, brings a smile to your face. Hearing your shoes sharply click against them only makes the smile wider.

It's warm. Amazing how 30 degree weather feels balmy in February. You feel yourself stretching out, seemingly growing taller as you reach closer to the sun. The breeze refrehses you - for one day, at least, it has given up on forcing you to retreat indoors.

The first street buskers are performing a block away. You hear the inviting sound of an acoustic guitar and bongos, voices collaborating to form a seemingly carefree harmony. You form mental images of the performers as you approach - dreadlocks pop into your mind immediately - but they're shattered when you see the mohawks and the "Hippie Killer" leather jacket. You chuckle and walk on.

You meet up with a friend for coffee and revel in the delight of whipped cream and mint. You laugh and smile after you decide to pause in the sunshine. "I just feel so GOOD today!" is the catchphrase of the day for you both. You laugh as you converse, realizing that your friend knows you too well to try to hide the giddiness of the day.

After an exchange of "thank you"s and hugs, you turn to head back to the climate-controlled confines of your business day. You're trying to cling to these moments - to record in your mind the feeling of nothing but pleased with life.

As you walk away, you hear "I hope you keep having a good day!"

You wave without looking back, realzing that the odds are probably good that you will keep on having that kind of a day. You can't NOT today.

My Day

status check - Great
background ambiance - Averi, "When You Gracefully Creep In"

February 2 is My Day.

It was only a matter of time before I officially declared it a personal holiday. For whatever reason, life has consistently sent good things my way on this particular day. Out of all those one will find on a calendar, February 2 has the best track record of ending well - that is, I traditionally end the day with a smile on my face due to some form of special event.

Five years ago, I returned to my townhouse determined to find out about the amazing singer/songwriter I'd seen at the Coffeehouse that evening. All I knew was that he had a hilarious British accent, performed a mean Dave Matthews Band cover and had an amazingly familiar-sounding song called "She Says" that I loved right away. My first Howie Day concert began my shift from my angry-girl Korn and Limp Bizkit phase toward the music I adore today.

Four years ago, I learned that Michelle and I were given a slot on the campus station's radio programming. I remember being thrilled to know precisely when the two of us would be laughing over the airwaves.

Three years ago? The day started during the post-ACTF-competition celebration. I had learned I'd be going back to DC that April, and as February 2 began, I was feeling buzzed and warm as I sat on a stoop in the cold with another ACTF repeat.

Two? Not much to celebrate that year - but I was in the DC mentality at the time.

And one year ago, I started my "full-time full-time" endeavor with this screwy, alternately frustrating and rewarding profession I'm in.

So it's My Day and I'm going to have a grin on my face throughout, dammit. I've earned the right. I mean, we celebrate birthdays - when our mothers really did all the work. We celebrate holidays to remember what others did years, centuries ago.

Shouldn't a Me Day be celebrated as well? It's one of the few opportunities you have to really celebrate what you've accomplished. I think it's all the more important for that very reason.

So I'm in celebratory mode. And ready to see if the extraordinary precedent of an otherwise ordinary day happens to continue.

Indio, anyone?

status check - Impressed
background ambiance - Pete Thurston, "Take You Home"

Consider last year's contemplations a test run.

Coachella, my friends.

Among a whole lot of others: Coldplay, Weezer, Wilco, Keane, Rilo Kiley, Jamie Cullum, Donavon Frankenreiter, Katie Melua, Spoon, Eisley, Bright Eyes, Nine Inch Nails, Prodigy (haha - freshman year flashback), The Arcade Fire, The Dresden Dolls, The Fiery Furnaces, Stereophonics and, included strictly for Beth's amusement/chagrin, Tegan and Sara.

Stare at the list, dears. Start drooling.