I've spent much of the morning trying to get back in touch with my 10-year-old self.
I was surprised - and a little disappointed - that the plain white envelope had been set aside by my parents on Christmas morning. They handed it to me after I'd opened the cool presents, and I thought of it more as an afterthought than anything else. What amazingly awesome thing would fit into a little envelope?
I was confused when I opened it to find a New Kids on the Block sticker. I screamed when my parents told me what it signified.
My uncle was stationed at that point in Newport News, Virigina, and he was living on base with my aunt and two cousins - who were three and one years older than I was. NKOTB was playing in Richmond in March. They had bought me a ticket. All that stood between me and Joe (I refused to call him Joey or Joey Joe) McIntyre was a few months and about 600 miles.
When the appropriate amount of time crept by, my father and I climbed into the car and embarked on the trip. I could have slept and made the trip pass by faster, but I instead stared out the window at the scenes changing around me. The ride to Massachusetts was easy by this point, but this was four Massachusetts trips wrapped up into one. Twelve hours. And, because I didn't know at that point how tours worked, I wanted to be sure I could see the New Kids tour bus, should it amble by us on the highway.
A truck driver spotted on the Garden State Parkway traveled the same route into Virginia, and he began to wave to me each time he would see my inquisitive face peeking out the window. I got him to lay on the horn as we made our circut around D.C., and my dad laughed as I let off a peal of laughter.
Nina, Nikki and I were uncontrollable bundles of jitters the day of the show, and the adults tried to calm us with a trip to the mall. It might have worked, had we not discovered a huge collection of New Kids shirts on display at one of the stores. My father bought me a Joe shirt in all of its oversized glory - Joe's slightly blurred black and white face accented by squiggles of neon blue and pink. Ah, 1990 style. He asked if I was going to wear it to the show, and I very seriously replied that I would not. I was not going to show favortism against the other four; I was going to wear the shirt my grandfather had given me for Christmas.
I don't remember much about the trip to the actual show, although I did win the respect of those standing in line around me after I explained that I was from Vermont. I was the ultimate Blockhead - a nickname that amuses me all the more now. Those with four-hour return trips awaiting them glowered at me. I practically strutted into the venue.
I did not cry, although I wanted to, as we heard the "Let's give it up for the five hardest working kids in show biz...the N-N-N-New Kids oooooooooooon the Block!" The driving beat for "My Favorite Girl" kicked in and I was shouting, singing and dancing for a good solid two hours. I remember the sparkly jackets during "This One's For the Children," Joe's leather jacket with white music notes, the shouts of "Hey, hey, I feel alright, one time..." and Joe trying to belt out "Please Don't Go Girl" post-voice change.
I remember walking out with ringing ears and the biggest smile on my face I'd ever had; the drive back the next day was peppered with stories that began with, "And then Joe did THE CRAZIEST THING...And Donnie was INSANE...And Danny was BREAKDANCING during..."
I never entertained the notion that such stories would not leave someone absolutely amazed.
Which is why, although I know tonight's performer won't be able to come even remotely close to the experience I had courtesy of five guys from Boston, I'm ready for the post-show stories that will bubble out of my 12-year-old cousin this evening. I know she's riding with my parents (saints that they are to transport a pre-teen on such a venture) on the highway right now, probably looking out the window, willing for the time to pass by faster.
Because she's meeting up with my flatmate and I, and then we're going to see Clay (I won't add the usual expletive today) Aiken tonight. It's her first concert. I'm bringing my camera. Years from now, she'll laugh when she sees photos of her 12-year-old self, raptly singing along.
8.29.2005
8.28.2005
In Retrospect
I was trying to keep my brave face on, although everything was making me cry.
I'd gotten my new driver's license, a sharp new pair of glasses and a haircut. Most of my things were packed, although I would only be bringing four suitcases with me upon leaving. The rest would arrive when my family made the 10-hour car ride a few weeks later.
I'd done as much as I could to prepare for greeting new faces and sights; I was to spend the last couple of days saying goodbye to that which was familiar.
I spent the 28th laughing and ignoring the ticking clock. I was in Massachusetts, spending a day or two with M and her family - my adopted second family. We lounged about and chatted; they bolstered my apparently shaky confidence with assurances that I was going to have an amazing experience in the new city.
I tried to believe them. I was excited, to be sure, but scared to death. That I was in the Boston area - the runner-up in the "Where Is V Going To Start Out" pageant - made it easier and harder at the same time. I knew I wanted to be there ultimately - but would I discover later that I'd made the wrong decision, that I was supposed to be there now?
M and I drove to Cambridge in the evening, parking near the blue house that held inside it a venue I'd never been to before. I grinned upon seeing strong wooden beams and gleaming floorboards when we walked in. A litte dinner downstairs, then we climbed up the stairs to the performance space above. I felt as if I had stepped into some unknown barn as I looked up to the bare rafters and stepped across the wooden floor.
The crowd was larger than the other performance I'd attended, and it felt strange to have to jostle for a good vantage point. The audience members around me surprised me as they sang along to nearly ever song - I was happy to join in. The bright, excited smiles looking back at us from the stage made me realize how happy I was to be there. M laughed from her spot next to me; it was the perfect way to prepare for the new venture. I was going out with a song and a smile.
We waited when the show ended. I was hugged, we chatted and I tried to downplay the nervousness that I'd been able to forget for a couple of hours. It was starting to creep back in. I was introduced to several people and focused instead on keeping a polite, bright smile on my face.
I tried to blink back tears as we left. It was partly because I had no idea when I would again see someone I had just begun to get to know, but M knew the tears were less for him than for the process I was beginning to undertake.
That was my first official goodbye. And the hardest ones were still to come, and there would be a series of them within the following 24 hours. It had finally begun to hit me.
From back then:
and the colors are much brighter now
it's like they really want to tell the truth
we give our testimony to the end of the summer
it's the end of the summer,
you can spin the light to gold.
- dar williams (thanks beth)
I'd gotten my new driver's license, a sharp new pair of glasses and a haircut. Most of my things were packed, although I would only be bringing four suitcases with me upon leaving. The rest would arrive when my family made the 10-hour car ride a few weeks later.
I'd done as much as I could to prepare for greeting new faces and sights; I was to spend the last couple of days saying goodbye to that which was familiar.
I spent the 28th laughing and ignoring the ticking clock. I was in Massachusetts, spending a day or two with M and her family - my adopted second family. We lounged about and chatted; they bolstered my apparently shaky confidence with assurances that I was going to have an amazing experience in the new city.
I tried to believe them. I was excited, to be sure, but scared to death. That I was in the Boston area - the runner-up in the "Where Is V Going To Start Out" pageant - made it easier and harder at the same time. I knew I wanted to be there ultimately - but would I discover later that I'd made the wrong decision, that I was supposed to be there now?
M and I drove to Cambridge in the evening, parking near the blue house that held inside it a venue I'd never been to before. I grinned upon seeing strong wooden beams and gleaming floorboards when we walked in. A litte dinner downstairs, then we climbed up the stairs to the performance space above. I felt as if I had stepped into some unknown barn as I looked up to the bare rafters and stepped across the wooden floor.
The crowd was larger than the other performance I'd attended, and it felt strange to have to jostle for a good vantage point. The audience members around me surprised me as they sang along to nearly ever song - I was happy to join in. The bright, excited smiles looking back at us from the stage made me realize how happy I was to be there. M laughed from her spot next to me; it was the perfect way to prepare for the new venture. I was going out with a song and a smile.
We waited when the show ended. I was hugged, we chatted and I tried to downplay the nervousness that I'd been able to forget for a couple of hours. It was starting to creep back in. I was introduced to several people and focused instead on keeping a polite, bright smile on my face.
I tried to blink back tears as we left. It was partly because I had no idea when I would again see someone I had just begun to get to know, but M knew the tears were less for him than for the process I was beginning to undertake.
That was my first official goodbye. And the hardest ones were still to come, and there would be a series of them within the following 24 hours. It had finally begun to hit me.
From back then:
and the colors are much brighter now
it's like they really want to tell the truth
we give our testimony to the end of the summer
it's the end of the summer,
you can spin the light to gold.
- dar williams (thanks beth)
8.27.2005
Yin & Yang
The college kids have come back, so Burlington has been flooded by 12,000 youngsters looking for something - and someone - to do. I specifically avoided many of the places I've enjoyed during the brief summer respite. The first college weekend is craziness, and I am willing to give up my haunts for a short period of time. But next weekend? Oh, game on.
So I took to the places kids either don't know of or - much to my chagrin - the places they can't afford.
Not that I can, either, but I can fake it for the sake of sipping a Saturday night cocktail with friends in relative peace.
I was at such a place this evening, drinking a Stoli Raz and Sprite (a drink that brings back interesting college memories of my own, oddly enough) when an acquaintance of my friend switched subjects, unleashing one of the most unexpected, brilliant monologues I've ever heard. Even trying to recapture it won't do it justice.
We forget that we're adults, that we have control over our destinies. There's fear, there's skepticism, there's a sense that we're not going to be able to accomplish what we want to do, so we don't even try. It's too late, we say. But know what? Fuck that. It's never too fucking late. The majority of the people who make it in whatever they want to do? They didn't start out on this track and just keep shooting up. They realized that whatever they were doing wasn't something that satisfied them. They decided to turn things around and follow their passion. They worked. And they did it. And it doesn't matter if you're 28. 32. 40. Fuck it, if someone's 80 and they want to do it, they can do it. It's your mindset. It's not some fucking god-given right to be a success. You make your destiny. Not anyone else. And it's NEVER too late. There are NEVER factors beyond your control. Take those fucking factors and turn them around in your favor. And if they're tough, you work them until you beat them. And then you join the ranks of those who have made it. And you appreciate it. Seriously.
I proposed a toast, and the three of us clinked our glasses with determined gusto. That first sip afterwards - it tasted divine.
-----------
I was still thinking about what he said as I made the walk home. Up Church, over to Pearl, crossing the various side streets until I would ultimately reach my little domesticated spot. I tried to ignore the college kiddies running about with glee.
Hey, I remember how it was to return to Burlington ready to take on the classes, the parties and - by partway through senior year - the bars. Can't fault them for what I thought of doing myself, right?
Which is why we'd played along with the guys who tried telling us that the bar to which we were walking had closed. "Oh really? I mean, it does look a little dark, but the music sounds loud, did they forget to turn off the PA? Yeah, we might be here for a bit. Mmmmhmmm..."
So, as I made my way home, I ignored the first "Hey, beautiful. How you doin?"
I walked right past the "Hey, sexy thang."
I only rolled my eyes at the driveby, "Hiiiiiii there, little lady."
But I have to admit that I did burst into laughter after walking past a porch full of (really young-looking) guys, the most brazen of whom actually hooted. Like he was calling to a golden retriever. "Hooo! Baby girl! You! The one walking by! Hoooo!"
Honey.
That wouldn't have even worked on me when I was a co-ed.
And it won't get me to go out and buy you beer.
Sorry, sweetie.
It felt good, if not a little strange, to realize that I was happy to be a grownup.
-----------
Hospital update: My brother is fine. Well, it turns out that he does have strep, so it was good that he went to get it checked out. But he has antibiotics and has assured me that he's going to rest up and take care of himself so he's back and healthy as quickly as possible.
He told me he'd made a stop at the store earlier today, where he picked up necessary items for a low-key recovery night.
Ginger Ale.
Soft bread.
And the Luden's wild cherry cough drops.
Love it.
-----------
And finally, in news I would include (or not include) in a more witty, charismatic manner had I not partaken in previously mentioned cocktails, I had a fabulous day.
- Margaritas in the middle of the afternoon? Why not? It was hot out and there was an open outdoor table. Lovely.
- I partook in something in which I hadn't partaken in about five years. Memories of the Playhouse summer flooded back.
- My toes are now cute, adorable and accented with a lovely shade of corally orange. Pedicures are fun. Massage chairs are heavenly, although the kneeding conducted electronically on my back brought back memories of theater festival massages. A has finally been bumped down to the second hardest massage I've ever received. My birthday is in early November. Feel free to start pooling together funds to buy me a massage chair for a gift.
- I finally bought myself a copy of my second favorite book. If the weather forecasts for tomorrow are accurrate, "East of Eden" will be devoured (again) from a prime spot in the sunporch tomorrow (along with the latest issue of "Under the Radar"). Orange toes and Steinbeck? Life's pretty damn grand.
So I took to the places kids either don't know of or - much to my chagrin - the places they can't afford.
Not that I can, either, but I can fake it for the sake of sipping a Saturday night cocktail with friends in relative peace.
I was at such a place this evening, drinking a Stoli Raz and Sprite (a drink that brings back interesting college memories of my own, oddly enough) when an acquaintance of my friend switched subjects, unleashing one of the most unexpected, brilliant monologues I've ever heard. Even trying to recapture it won't do it justice.
We forget that we're adults, that we have control over our destinies. There's fear, there's skepticism, there's a sense that we're not going to be able to accomplish what we want to do, so we don't even try. It's too late, we say. But know what? Fuck that. It's never too fucking late. The majority of the people who make it in whatever they want to do? They didn't start out on this track and just keep shooting up. They realized that whatever they were doing wasn't something that satisfied them. They decided to turn things around and follow their passion. They worked. And they did it. And it doesn't matter if you're 28. 32. 40. Fuck it, if someone's 80 and they want to do it, they can do it. It's your mindset. It's not some fucking god-given right to be a success. You make your destiny. Not anyone else. And it's NEVER too late. There are NEVER factors beyond your control. Take those fucking factors and turn them around in your favor. And if they're tough, you work them until you beat them. And then you join the ranks of those who have made it. And you appreciate it. Seriously.
I proposed a toast, and the three of us clinked our glasses with determined gusto. That first sip afterwards - it tasted divine.
-----------
I was still thinking about what he said as I made the walk home. Up Church, over to Pearl, crossing the various side streets until I would ultimately reach my little domesticated spot. I tried to ignore the college kiddies running about with glee.
Hey, I remember how it was to return to Burlington ready to take on the classes, the parties and - by partway through senior year - the bars. Can't fault them for what I thought of doing myself, right?
Which is why we'd played along with the guys who tried telling us that the bar to which we were walking had closed. "Oh really? I mean, it does look a little dark, but the music sounds loud, did they forget to turn off the PA? Yeah, we might be here for a bit. Mmmmhmmm..."
So, as I made my way home, I ignored the first "Hey, beautiful. How you doin?"
I walked right past the "Hey, sexy thang."
I only rolled my eyes at the driveby, "Hiiiiiii there, little lady."
But I have to admit that I did burst into laughter after walking past a porch full of (really young-looking) guys, the most brazen of whom actually hooted. Like he was calling to a golden retriever. "Hooo! Baby girl! You! The one walking by! Hoooo!"
Honey.
That wouldn't have even worked on me when I was a co-ed.
And it won't get me to go out and buy you beer.
Sorry, sweetie.
It felt good, if not a little strange, to realize that I was happy to be a grownup.
-----------
Hospital update: My brother is fine. Well, it turns out that he does have strep, so it was good that he went to get it checked out. But he has antibiotics and has assured me that he's going to rest up and take care of himself so he's back and healthy as quickly as possible.
He told me he'd made a stop at the store earlier today, where he picked up necessary items for a low-key recovery night.
Ginger Ale.
Soft bread.
And the Luden's wild cherry cough drops.
Love it.
-----------
And finally, in news I would include (or not include) in a more witty, charismatic manner had I not partaken in previously mentioned cocktails, I had a fabulous day.
- Margaritas in the middle of the afternoon? Why not? It was hot out and there was an open outdoor table. Lovely.
- I partook in something in which I hadn't partaken in about five years. Memories of the Playhouse summer flooded back.
- My toes are now cute, adorable and accented with a lovely shade of corally orange. Pedicures are fun. Massage chairs are heavenly, although the kneeding conducted electronically on my back brought back memories of theater festival massages. A has finally been bumped down to the second hardest massage I've ever received. My birthday is in early November. Feel free to start pooling together funds to buy me a massage chair for a gift.
- I finally bought myself a copy of my second favorite book. If the weather forecasts for tomorrow are accurrate, "East of Eden" will be devoured (again) from a prime spot in the sunporch tomorrow (along with the latest issue of "Under the Radar"). Orange toes and Steinbeck? Life's pretty damn grand.
8.26.2005
The Waiting Room
My brother is on his way to the emergency room.
I made him promise me that he would call me to keep me posted on what was going on. Then I made him put his girlfriend on the phone so she would promise to call me and keep me posted.
So now I sit and wait.
It's nothing super serious. He thinks he might have strep throat, and he spent the better part of an hour on the phone with me, each of us Googling symptoms and images of sore throats.
Love is willingly looking at images of throats that resemble something out of a "Friday the Thirteenth" movie. Mom and Dad apparently did something right with this whole parenting thing.
He wasn't sure whether to get it checked out. He was an accident-prone kid growing up, so he's been in emergency rooms before. But those were from cuts or concussions sustained playing in ball games. Not something with an unclear diagnosis. He didn't know whether this was strep. He, like I, never had any sore throats Luden's Wild Cherry coughdrops couldn't cure.
And as for his supposedly older and wiser sister? The only time I've been in a hospital since birth has been to visit ill relatives, console a friend who had been in a car accident and to take a single tai chi class. I try to steer clear of the medicine house, and it has politely steered clear of me.
So we were trying to figure out what was going on. He's in Massachusetts; I clearly am not. So I listened to cell-phone transmitted descriptions of the symptoms and tried matching them up against whatever IDoctor site I could find.
Finally, I told him I think he should have it checked out. "Better to know one way or the other so you can deal accordingly. And if it is strep, if the rapid test comes back positive, they can get you on drugs and you'll start to feel better. Drugs are good."
My brother is straight edge. But he agreed with me on this one.
So now he's on the way to the hospital. And I'm letting my cell phone charge so I can take the late night calls. I already called my mother (who had been worrying about him all day) to let her know what was going on. Because otherwise, she would have stayed up all night.
I made her promise me that she would go to sleep. I made her promise me that she wouldn't worry if she didn't hear from me, because I was going to call her before she left the house at 7:30 tomorrow morning. I made her promise that she wouldn't try calling him while he was getting checked out.
She promised on all counts, and then she thanked me. For what, I'm not sure. For being a bossy bitch?
As I prepared to hang up, she chuckled sleepily into the phone.
"It's fun, isn't it?"
"Isn't what?" I asked.
"Being a parent."
I had to laugh. I really was in Mom Mode.
"Oh yes. Tons of fun. Now go to sleep, honey."
I made him promise me that he would call me to keep me posted on what was going on. Then I made him put his girlfriend on the phone so she would promise to call me and keep me posted.
So now I sit and wait.
It's nothing super serious. He thinks he might have strep throat, and he spent the better part of an hour on the phone with me, each of us Googling symptoms and images of sore throats.
Love is willingly looking at images of throats that resemble something out of a "Friday the Thirteenth" movie. Mom and Dad apparently did something right with this whole parenting thing.
He wasn't sure whether to get it checked out. He was an accident-prone kid growing up, so he's been in emergency rooms before. But those were from cuts or concussions sustained playing in ball games. Not something with an unclear diagnosis. He didn't know whether this was strep. He, like I, never had any sore throats Luden's Wild Cherry coughdrops couldn't cure.
And as for his supposedly older and wiser sister? The only time I've been in a hospital since birth has been to visit ill relatives, console a friend who had been in a car accident and to take a single tai chi class. I try to steer clear of the medicine house, and it has politely steered clear of me.
So we were trying to figure out what was going on. He's in Massachusetts; I clearly am not. So I listened to cell-phone transmitted descriptions of the symptoms and tried matching them up against whatever IDoctor site I could find.
Finally, I told him I think he should have it checked out. "Better to know one way or the other so you can deal accordingly. And if it is strep, if the rapid test comes back positive, they can get you on drugs and you'll start to feel better. Drugs are good."
My brother is straight edge. But he agreed with me on this one.
So now he's on the way to the hospital. And I'm letting my cell phone charge so I can take the late night calls. I already called my mother (who had been worrying about him all day) to let her know what was going on. Because otherwise, she would have stayed up all night.
I made her promise me that she would go to sleep. I made her promise me that she wouldn't worry if she didn't hear from me, because I was going to call her before she left the house at 7:30 tomorrow morning. I made her promise that she wouldn't try calling him while he was getting checked out.
She promised on all counts, and then she thanked me. For what, I'm not sure. For being a bossy bitch?
As I prepared to hang up, she chuckled sleepily into the phone.
"It's fun, isn't it?"
"Isn't what?" I asked.
"Being a parent."
I had to laugh. I really was in Mom Mode.
"Oh yes. Tons of fun. Now go to sleep, honey."
Florez, a pretty incredible-sounding band out of Nashville, won the Battle for the Boat over at Icehouse.
The nominations for the Boston Music Awards came out today (or, at least, were in the newspapers today), and Averi earned four nominations. Tying with the Dropkick Murphys for the second highest total, one behind Ray LaMontagne.
Looking over the nominations, I'm psyched. A lot of talented and deserving people/bands earned nods...although it makes for some pretty strong competition in several categories.
My thoughts on several of the categories (those in which I feel knowledgable):
Act of the Year: The Dresden Dolls, Dropkick Murphys, Fountains of Wayne, Howie Day, Godsmack, Pet Metheny and Ray LaMontagne.
Dresden Dolls will have a strong showing in the vote count, and Dropkick Murphys will be able to ride the city love and the Red Sox championship (when you provide the anthem for a monumental experience, that's going to count for something big). Howie Day has been simmering in the Boston scene for years now, and "Collide" has the possibility of affecting the hometown crowd much like "The Remedy" and "You & I Both" did for Jason Mraz at the SDMAs the last couple of years. But Ray should get it. Incredible backstory, amazing voice and I'm sure there are countless people still thinking, like myself, of the awe-inspiring (and I don't use that term lightly) experience at Paradise in January. Ray gets the award, I predict.
Album of the Year (Major): Trouble (Ray LaMontagne), Broken World (Lost City Angels), Joe Perry (Joe Perry), The Way Up (Pat Metheny), Hearts on Parade (American Hi-Fi), The Forgotten Arm (Aimee Mann).
No question. Trouble.
Local Album of the Year: Drawn to Revolving Doors (Averi), Time for Biting (The Dents), A Weakness for Spirits (Darkbuster), Kiss the Culprit (Emergency Music), All I Ever Wanted Was Tonight (Dear Leader).
I keep hearing about Dear Leader and Emergency Music. They might make a showing. But I predict Averi takes this one.
Outstanding Pop/Rock Band: Dropkick Murphys, Fountains of Wayne, Guster, Mission of Burma, Staind, Godsmack, The Click 5.
I adore Guster. But, symphony shows aside, they haven't done much this year to warrant attention. Meanwhile, Dropkick played on the dugout at Fenway Park during the Red Sox pre-playoff rally. "Tessie" was blasted from speakers across the country after the final out was recorded. I'm ignoring the amusement I find that they're considered Pop/Rock. The only competition they face comes in the form of the nattily-dressed boys from The Click 5, who have just exploded over the last couple of months. I think DKM takes it home, but I won't be surprised if we see skinny ties when the award is being accepted.
Male Vocalist of the Year: Aaron Lewis (Staind), Brian Fair (Shadows Fall), Clint Conley (Mission of Burma), Howie Day, Ray LaMontagne, Sully Erna (Godsmack).
Howie Day could get a sympathy nod here. If everyone's awarding everything else to Ray or DKM, perhaps they would want to give him a few votes in this category. But I doubt it. Ray should easily win this one.
Song of the Year: Tessie (Dropkick Murphys), 1,2,3 (Bill Janovitz & Crown Victoria), Collide (Howie Day), Leave (Jojo), Just a Girl (The Click 5), Trouble (Ray LaMontagne).
Johnny Damon might go all caveman on voters if they don't give Tessie the award. For the sake of all Bostonians (actual and honorary), DKM should get this one.
Local Song of the Year: Raging Red (Dear Leader), Here I Am (The Explosion), In Defense of Dorchester (The Street Dogs), A Simple Plan (The Information), God is Going to Get Sick of Me (Aberdeen City), The Razor (The Perceptionists), For Better or Worse (Averi).
Averi should take this one home - and I think the guys will.
Local Male Vocalist: Ad Frank, Brett Rosenberg, Chad Perrone (Averi), Jake Brennan, John Powhida (The Rudds), Mike Gent (The Gentlemen), Reverend Glasseye, Ron Ragona (Lost City Angels).
OK. Nomination folk. Big problem here. You haven't even nominated one of the Boston area's best male voices. Was it because he was busy traveling all over the country this year? Did you just happen to forget he's a Boston musician? Where is Ryan Montbleau? Yeah, Montbleau. The guy whose album, "Stages," you all really dug? Glaring omission. That said, I think Chad Perrone should win this one. With the success Averi has had, in particular over the last 18 months, and the word that is starting to spread through his solo work, his name comes out on top.
Live Act: Darkbuster, Fluttr Effect, Jake Brennan and the Confidence Men, Much and the Mires, Robby Roadsteamer, The Dents, The Dresden Dolls, The Slip.
People are starting to really buzz about Fluttr Effect. And many love The Dresden Dolls. I don't know of the others. Yet.
Local Female Vocalist: Amanda Palmer (Dresden Dolls), Andrea Gillis, Emily Grogan, Grace Potter, Jen D'Angora, Laurie Sargent, Monique Ortiz, Sarah Borges.
Grace Potter. I'll be shocked if she doesn't get this one.
New Local Act: Andrea Gillis, Cyanide Valentine, Furvis, Turpentine Brothers, The Click 5, Grace Potter and the Nocturnals, The Mittens.
Who I'd like to see get it? Grace Potter and the Nocturnals. Who I think will get it? The Click 5.
Local Rock/Pop Band: Apollo Sunshine, Averi, Dear Leader, Emergency Music, The Dents, The Gentlemen, The Information, Waltham.
Averi. They're headling Avalon. Enough said.
Punk Band: Darkbuster, Dropkick Murphys, Lost City Angels, The Explosion, The Streetdogs, The Unseen.
DKM could take this, but as far as I'm concerned, Boston's punk scene is one that certainly doesn't need to have a band nominated for Rock/Pop also nominated for Punk. According to that which I have heard from my Boston punk operatives (OK, fine. My brother), The Unseen should get this.
Male Singer/Songwriter: Bill Janovitz, Ellis Paul, Jake Brennan, Joe Pernice, Josh Ritter, Peter Mulvey, Ray LaMontagne.
Damn. Josh Ritter was more on people's minds last year - and I have a hunch he'll be back next year. He's good, but with Ray and Ellis in the list, he shouldn't even be a consideration. Ray will get it, but I'd like to know there was a strong Ellis showing.
Female Singer/Songwriter: Catie Curtis, Juliana Hatfield, Lori McKenna, Melissa Ferrick, Mieka Pauley, Paula Kelley, Sarah Borges.
It's not quite Mieka Pauley's time yet, but keep your eyes on her. Melissa Ferrick is a perrenial nominee, and deserving, but Catie Curtis deserves this.
Blues Act: Eli "Paperboy" Reed, James Montgomery, Johnny A, Monster Mike Welch, David Maxwell, Susan Tedeschi, Ronnie Earl.
Susan Tedeschi. Although some people should cast ballots for Monster Mike Welch. Just for the, ahem, name.
Local Producer: Dave Minehan, Matthew Ellard, Mike Denneen, Paul Koledrie, Scott Reibling, Tom Polce.
Reibling.
The nominations for the Boston Music Awards came out today (or, at least, were in the newspapers today), and Averi earned four nominations. Tying with the Dropkick Murphys for the second highest total, one behind Ray LaMontagne.
Looking over the nominations, I'm psyched. A lot of talented and deserving people/bands earned nods...although it makes for some pretty strong competition in several categories.
My thoughts on several of the categories (those in which I feel knowledgable):
Act of the Year: The Dresden Dolls, Dropkick Murphys, Fountains of Wayne, Howie Day, Godsmack, Pet Metheny and Ray LaMontagne.
Dresden Dolls will have a strong showing in the vote count, and Dropkick Murphys will be able to ride the city love and the Red Sox championship (when you provide the anthem for a monumental experience, that's going to count for something big). Howie Day has been simmering in the Boston scene for years now, and "Collide" has the possibility of affecting the hometown crowd much like "The Remedy" and "You & I Both" did for Jason Mraz at the SDMAs the last couple of years. But Ray should get it. Incredible backstory, amazing voice and I'm sure there are countless people still thinking, like myself, of the awe-inspiring (and I don't use that term lightly) experience at Paradise in January. Ray gets the award, I predict.
Album of the Year (Major): Trouble (Ray LaMontagne), Broken World (Lost City Angels), Joe Perry (Joe Perry), The Way Up (Pat Metheny), Hearts on Parade (American Hi-Fi), The Forgotten Arm (Aimee Mann).
No question. Trouble.
Local Album of the Year: Drawn to Revolving Doors (Averi), Time for Biting (The Dents), A Weakness for Spirits (Darkbuster), Kiss the Culprit (Emergency Music), All I Ever Wanted Was Tonight (Dear Leader).
I keep hearing about Dear Leader and Emergency Music. They might make a showing. But I predict Averi takes this one.
Outstanding Pop/Rock Band: Dropkick Murphys, Fountains of Wayne, Guster, Mission of Burma, Staind, Godsmack, The Click 5.
I adore Guster. But, symphony shows aside, they haven't done much this year to warrant attention. Meanwhile, Dropkick played on the dugout at Fenway Park during the Red Sox pre-playoff rally. "Tessie" was blasted from speakers across the country after the final out was recorded. I'm ignoring the amusement I find that they're considered Pop/Rock. The only competition they face comes in the form of the nattily-dressed boys from The Click 5, who have just exploded over the last couple of months. I think DKM takes it home, but I won't be surprised if we see skinny ties when the award is being accepted.
Male Vocalist of the Year: Aaron Lewis (Staind), Brian Fair (Shadows Fall), Clint Conley (Mission of Burma), Howie Day, Ray LaMontagne, Sully Erna (Godsmack).
Howie Day could get a sympathy nod here. If everyone's awarding everything else to Ray or DKM, perhaps they would want to give him a few votes in this category. But I doubt it. Ray should easily win this one.
Song of the Year: Tessie (Dropkick Murphys), 1,2,3 (Bill Janovitz & Crown Victoria), Collide (Howie Day), Leave (Jojo), Just a Girl (The Click 5), Trouble (Ray LaMontagne).
Johnny Damon might go all caveman on voters if they don't give Tessie the award. For the sake of all Bostonians (actual and honorary), DKM should get this one.
Local Song of the Year: Raging Red (Dear Leader), Here I Am (The Explosion), In Defense of Dorchester (The Street Dogs), A Simple Plan (The Information), God is Going to Get Sick of Me (Aberdeen City), The Razor (The Perceptionists), For Better or Worse (Averi).
Averi should take this one home - and I think the guys will.
Local Male Vocalist: Ad Frank, Brett Rosenberg, Chad Perrone (Averi), Jake Brennan, John Powhida (The Rudds), Mike Gent (The Gentlemen), Reverend Glasseye, Ron Ragona (Lost City Angels).
OK. Nomination folk. Big problem here. You haven't even nominated one of the Boston area's best male voices. Was it because he was busy traveling all over the country this year? Did you just happen to forget he's a Boston musician? Where is Ryan Montbleau? Yeah, Montbleau. The guy whose album, "Stages," you all really dug? Glaring omission. That said, I think Chad Perrone should win this one. With the success Averi has had, in particular over the last 18 months, and the word that is starting to spread through his solo work, his name comes out on top.
Live Act: Darkbuster, Fluttr Effect, Jake Brennan and the Confidence Men, Much and the Mires, Robby Roadsteamer, The Dents, The Dresden Dolls, The Slip.
People are starting to really buzz about Fluttr Effect. And many love The Dresden Dolls. I don't know of the others. Yet.
Local Female Vocalist: Amanda Palmer (Dresden Dolls), Andrea Gillis, Emily Grogan, Grace Potter, Jen D'Angora, Laurie Sargent, Monique Ortiz, Sarah Borges.
Grace Potter. I'll be shocked if she doesn't get this one.
New Local Act: Andrea Gillis, Cyanide Valentine, Furvis, Turpentine Brothers, The Click 5, Grace Potter and the Nocturnals, The Mittens.
Who I'd like to see get it? Grace Potter and the Nocturnals. Who I think will get it? The Click 5.
Local Rock/Pop Band: Apollo Sunshine, Averi, Dear Leader, Emergency Music, The Dents, The Gentlemen, The Information, Waltham.
Averi. They're headling Avalon. Enough said.
Punk Band: Darkbuster, Dropkick Murphys, Lost City Angels, The Explosion, The Streetdogs, The Unseen.
DKM could take this, but as far as I'm concerned, Boston's punk scene is one that certainly doesn't need to have a band nominated for Rock/Pop also nominated for Punk. According to that which I have heard from my Boston punk operatives (OK, fine. My brother), The Unseen should get this.
Male Singer/Songwriter: Bill Janovitz, Ellis Paul, Jake Brennan, Joe Pernice, Josh Ritter, Peter Mulvey, Ray LaMontagne.
Damn. Josh Ritter was more on people's minds last year - and I have a hunch he'll be back next year. He's good, but with Ray and Ellis in the list, he shouldn't even be a consideration. Ray will get it, but I'd like to know there was a strong Ellis showing.
Female Singer/Songwriter: Catie Curtis, Juliana Hatfield, Lori McKenna, Melissa Ferrick, Mieka Pauley, Paula Kelley, Sarah Borges.
It's not quite Mieka Pauley's time yet, but keep your eyes on her. Melissa Ferrick is a perrenial nominee, and deserving, but Catie Curtis deserves this.
Blues Act: Eli "Paperboy" Reed, James Montgomery, Johnny A, Monster Mike Welch, David Maxwell, Susan Tedeschi, Ronnie Earl.
Susan Tedeschi. Although some people should cast ballots for Monster Mike Welch. Just for the, ahem, name.
Local Producer: Dave Minehan, Matthew Ellard, Mike Denneen, Paul Koledrie, Scott Reibling, Tom Polce.
Reibling.
8.25.2005
Make it two, please. AND PandaCam
I woke this morning to a phone call. My mother, calling to say well done. Hearing "yours was better" led the way to consciousness much better than an alarm would have.
(As I'd dozed my way through several rounds with the snooze button at this point.)
It was a good start to the day.
It continued when the phone rang again, as I was brushing my teeth. Similarly worded sentiments by a similarly thoughtful person. "Way to go!"
Another as I approached the parking garage. "Hey, look at you!"
And one more, the most unexpected of all, as I logged into my email. "Nicely done."
I was proud. I'd expected to do well, but there were moments of frazzled doubt - and I'm a perfectionist when it comes to these kinds of things. The relief that washed over me felt incredible. I was ready to meet up with friends for drinks and Mexican in the early evening.
I was going to celebrate.
I sit here now, tired and cantankerous. The weight settled back onto my shoulders, due to something I can't directly influence.
I feel like a well-weathered cog.
At least the first hopeful glass of the evening's frozen margaritas will be needed to bolster my spirits.
Hopefully the second pitcher will celebrate my successes of the day.
----------
In other news. J is in big trouble, as she got me hooked on the PandaCam.
The National Zoo offers the service, but I'm watching from Animal Planet's mirror and I have no idea why I am so enthralled. The mother panda and her baby. OK. On camera. Pretty simple stuff.
But you start watching - or, actually, I start watching. And they're asleep. So I keep the window open while I do everything else I need to do. And just as I start to click on something else...
THE PANDAS MOVED! OH THEY'RE SO CUTE! OH LOOK AT THE BABY AS THE MOTHER LOOKS LIKE SHE'S GOING TO ROLL OVER ON TOP OF IT! OOOOOOOOH!
Silly of me to watch? Yes. But have I closed that window yet?
Hell no, they just moved to the mother sitting on a rock.
Can't turn away now!
(As I'd dozed my way through several rounds with the snooze button at this point.)
It was a good start to the day.
It continued when the phone rang again, as I was brushing my teeth. Similarly worded sentiments by a similarly thoughtful person. "Way to go!"
Another as I approached the parking garage. "Hey, look at you!"
And one more, the most unexpected of all, as I logged into my email. "Nicely done."
I was proud. I'd expected to do well, but there were moments of frazzled doubt - and I'm a perfectionist when it comes to these kinds of things. The relief that washed over me felt incredible. I was ready to meet up with friends for drinks and Mexican in the early evening.
I was going to celebrate.
I sit here now, tired and cantankerous. The weight settled back onto my shoulders, due to something I can't directly influence.
I feel like a well-weathered cog.
At least the first hopeful glass of the evening's frozen margaritas will be needed to bolster my spirits.
Hopefully the second pitcher will celebrate my successes of the day.
----------
In other news. J is in big trouble, as she got me hooked on the PandaCam.
The National Zoo offers the service, but I'm watching from Animal Planet's mirror and I have no idea why I am so enthralled. The mother panda and her baby. OK. On camera. Pretty simple stuff.
But you start watching - or, actually, I start watching. And they're asleep. So I keep the window open while I do everything else I need to do. And just as I start to click on something else...
THE PANDAS MOVED! OH THEY'RE SO CUTE! OH LOOK AT THE BABY AS THE MOTHER LOOKS LIKE SHE'S GOING TO ROLL OVER ON TOP OF IT! OOOOOOOOH!
Silly of me to watch? Yes. But have I closed that window yet?
Hell no, they just moved to the mother sitting on a rock.
Can't turn away now!
BWOC
You know it's scary when I want to start a post with the written equivalent of belting out John Mayer. "I wanna RUN through the halls of my HIGH school, I wanna scream at the TOP OF MY LUNGS..."
"She was a BWOC."
M peered at the yearbook photo and the cryptic senior memories printed below. References to varsity teams, the after-school job, AP classes, Shakespeare, concerts, old boyfriends, crushes and best friends.
I glanced at her sideways. "BWOC?"
She chuckled and looked back at the bright smile surrounded by a thick mane of long, pale hair. "You were a Big Woman On Campus, dear."
R laughed as my face reddened. Amazing how dynamic one's high school years can look through yearbook pages and school plaques. So what if I felt like a wallflower all four years? I looked accomplished in retrospect. Thank you, Father Time!
The lockers were a different color. The maroon had been replaced by an inexplicable shade of mint green. The principal noticed my subtle double take and laughingly apologized. The switch was made before his time, he explained. I snickered and pointed out the locker that held my books and (oh God) varsity jacket senior year.
The smell was exactly the same, and the marble floors cast the same quixotic reflections. You couldn't tell if the light bounced off the shiny walls onto the shiny floor or vice versa. A triangulated glow of muted white light.
The gymnasium was dark. ALmost intimidating - a realization that surprised me. The number of evenings and Saturdays spent sprinting across the floor, the pep rallies, graduation...hell, our championship banner hung on the wall and my name was engraved on the marble soccer plaque in the gym lobby. I still knew to keep to the sidelines when walking across the varnished wood floor. "No street shoes on the court!"
As I waited in the hallway, I looked at a stained-glass window over the front door. A mural depicting my National Honor Society advisor, whose death had surprised me a few years earlier. I looked at her etched face before turning to face the wall and the brass-and-wood plaques above the lockers. My brother's name was up there - I had to smile.
The pay phone had been moved, but the rest was as I remembered it. Smaller, though, which would have seemed impossible as a high schooler. Each of the rooms contained just what I remembered, even many of the same teachers. Grayer, comparatively smaller versions of the figures I alternately feared, loathed and adored as a student.
They remembered me - asked how my parents were, inquired about my brother. Teased me about the Red Sox, conversed with me in German. One pointed out drawings that a classmate (and my high school crush) had created sophomore year - he had kept them taped to the door to the chemical room ever since because he loved them so much. I remembered when he first mounted them there - then I realized it had been nearly a decade since that day. I made a mental note to email that old friend and share the anecdote. He'd get a kick out of it.
I knew this place well. Spending nearly every day of six teenage years will do that. But as I tried to remember what was important to me then, I realized just how much had changed. When teachers' eyes widened as I explained my involvement in theater during college, I remembered being 16 and wanting to join the theater club - but being too intimidated to do so. As M described my "beautiful long, blonde hair," I remembered tossing it just right so it would look its best for the senior year soccer team picture.
Getting a good picture for the yearbook was one of the most important things around. The yearbook photo. Beating out my class rival for the top soccer award senior year. Winning the state softball championship. Getting straight As and a good score on the AP English exam. Quoting Shakespeare with C as we walked through the hallways. Trading senior portraits with my classmates. Leaving my mark on my high school.
These were the things that were important.
I wasn't a BWOC, dear teacher.
I was one hell of a dork.
"She was a BWOC."
M peered at the yearbook photo and the cryptic senior memories printed below. References to varsity teams, the after-school job, AP classes, Shakespeare, concerts, old boyfriends, crushes and best friends.
I glanced at her sideways. "BWOC?"
She chuckled and looked back at the bright smile surrounded by a thick mane of long, pale hair. "You were a Big Woman On Campus, dear."
R laughed as my face reddened. Amazing how dynamic one's high school years can look through yearbook pages and school plaques. So what if I felt like a wallflower all four years? I looked accomplished in retrospect. Thank you, Father Time!
The lockers were a different color. The maroon had been replaced by an inexplicable shade of mint green. The principal noticed my subtle double take and laughingly apologized. The switch was made before his time, he explained. I snickered and pointed out the locker that held my books and (oh God) varsity jacket senior year.
The smell was exactly the same, and the marble floors cast the same quixotic reflections. You couldn't tell if the light bounced off the shiny walls onto the shiny floor or vice versa. A triangulated glow of muted white light.
The gymnasium was dark. ALmost intimidating - a realization that surprised me. The number of evenings and Saturdays spent sprinting across the floor, the pep rallies, graduation...hell, our championship banner hung on the wall and my name was engraved on the marble soccer plaque in the gym lobby. I still knew to keep to the sidelines when walking across the varnished wood floor. "No street shoes on the court!"
As I waited in the hallway, I looked at a stained-glass window over the front door. A mural depicting my National Honor Society advisor, whose death had surprised me a few years earlier. I looked at her etched face before turning to face the wall and the brass-and-wood plaques above the lockers. My brother's name was up there - I had to smile.
The pay phone had been moved, but the rest was as I remembered it. Smaller, though, which would have seemed impossible as a high schooler. Each of the rooms contained just what I remembered, even many of the same teachers. Grayer, comparatively smaller versions of the figures I alternately feared, loathed and adored as a student.
They remembered me - asked how my parents were, inquired about my brother. Teased me about the Red Sox, conversed with me in German. One pointed out drawings that a classmate (and my high school crush) had created sophomore year - he had kept them taped to the door to the chemical room ever since because he loved them so much. I remembered when he first mounted them there - then I realized it had been nearly a decade since that day. I made a mental note to email that old friend and share the anecdote. He'd get a kick out of it.
I knew this place well. Spending nearly every day of six teenage years will do that. But as I tried to remember what was important to me then, I realized just how much had changed. When teachers' eyes widened as I explained my involvement in theater during college, I remembered being 16 and wanting to join the theater club - but being too intimidated to do so. As M described my "beautiful long, blonde hair," I remembered tossing it just right so it would look its best for the senior year soccer team picture.
Getting a good picture for the yearbook was one of the most important things around. The yearbook photo. Beating out my class rival for the top soccer award senior year. Winning the state softball championship. Getting straight As and a good score on the AP English exam. Quoting Shakespeare with C as we walked through the hallways. Trading senior portraits with my classmates. Leaving my mark on my high school.
These were the things that were important.
I wasn't a BWOC, dear teacher.
I was one hell of a dork.
12:31 a.m.
It had been a bizarre day.
Disjointed connections between past and present, spliced with inquiries about the future. My head spun. I felt 17 again. 24 during fleeting moments. Old beyond my years.
I jotted down some quick paragraphs as I curled up on the couch, trying to make sense of the day's events. Mostly failing in my attempts. I pulled my sweater back on and stepped outside.
I looked up and realized the clouds had cleared. Stars stared down at me, clearer than they'd been for nights.
I sat on the porch, pulled the hood over my head and lay back against the wooden planks. I stared back at the stars. Closed my eyes. Listened to the crickets engage in their regular nocturnal chirping.
I decided not to think for awhile. Just looked, listened and felt when I felt so inclined.
Disjointed connections between past and present, spliced with inquiries about the future. My head spun. I felt 17 again. 24 during fleeting moments. Old beyond my years.
I jotted down some quick paragraphs as I curled up on the couch, trying to make sense of the day's events. Mostly failing in my attempts. I pulled my sweater back on and stepped outside.
I looked up and realized the clouds had cleared. Stars stared down at me, clearer than they'd been for nights.
I sat on the porch, pulled the hood over my head and lay back against the wooden planks. I stared back at the stars. Closed my eyes. Listened to the crickets engage in their regular nocturnal chirping.
I decided not to think for awhile. Just looked, listened and felt when I felt so inclined.
8.23.2005
Ha!
I think this may be one of the best flyers I've ever had sent my way.
And it'll be a great show - one I'm disappointed I'll have to miss.
Why the next few months may kill me.
(OR: How I Learned To Stop Caring and Love the Concert Season)
Sept. 9 - SK & the Sixers/Carbon Leaf - Vermont
Sept. 10 - Hotel Cafe Tour - Boston
Sept. 15 - Ryan Montbleau Band - Vermont
Sept. 23 - Averi (maybe?) - New Hampshire
Oct. 2 - Red Sox/Yankees - Boston
Oct. 6 - Mraz - Canada
Oct. 8 - David Gray - Boston
Oct. 9 - Mraz - Boston
Oct. 12 - Blues Traveler - Vermont
Oct. 19 - Nathanson - Boston
Oct. 20 - Nathanson - Boston
Oct. 22 - Montbleau - Boston
Sept. 9 - SK & the Sixers/Carbon Leaf - Vermont
Sept. 10 - Hotel Cafe Tour - Boston
Sept. 15 - Ryan Montbleau Band - Vermont
Sept. 23 - Averi (maybe?) - New Hampshire
Oct. 2 - Red Sox/Yankees - Boston
Oct. 6 - Mraz - Canada
Oct. 8 - David Gray - Boston
Oct. 9 - Mraz - Boston
Oct. 12 - Blues Traveler - Vermont
Oct. 19 - Nathanson - Boston
Oct. 20 - Nathanson - Boston
Oct. 22 - Montbleau - Boston
8.22.2005
SCENE 1. EXT. M'S CAR - SATURDAY. NIGHT.
M and V sit in the front of a Jeep, lit only by the glow of the dashboard and the intermittent flash of a passing streetlight. M drives, V sits in the passenger seat. The windows next to each are cracked, with the wind tugging at the stray strands of hair beyond the control of hair elastics.
M: What I find so amazing about Bill Murray is that he became famous and established by being the crazy, outlandish character. Yet this resurgange features such deadpan, almost morose men. And he just nails it.
V: I never thought, growing up, that I'd be able to see a film with him as a serious character and not think of him as a SNL character. But you just lose yourself in what he's doing. He's just so damn good.
M: Mmmhmmm.
M pulls up to a traffic light. It turns red as they approach. A Mercedes SUV pulls up to V's right.
V: I'm glad you liked it better than "Lost in Translation." I still can't believe you didn't like that movie.
M: Sophia! Ugh!
V and M laugh, then quiet down. Each are quietly contemplating "Broken Flowers," the film they had just seen at the Art Deco-inspired movie theater in Brookline. Each individually become aware of the radio broadcast audible from the Mercedes. Neither look at the other car, but both listen.
TALK SHOW HOST: Now keep in mind that the technique for making this wine varies depending on the grape being used and the desire intensity of the flavor. Red grapes will require less time boiling in the water than their green counterparts. White grapes require the least in order to keep that crisp, fresh flavor.
The light turns green.
TALK SHOW HOST: Without the need to concern oneself with fermentation...
The Mercedes driver drives away. His profile is never visible, save a glimpse of arm against the neon orange dashboard lights visible as he moves ahead of the Jeep. M and V pause for a moment and turn to face each other. They pause. Then laugh.
M: It never fails. Whenever I go to a really good movie, there will be some moment during the drive after that feels like it came right out of the movie. That was it.
END SCENE
M and V sit in the front of a Jeep, lit only by the glow of the dashboard and the intermittent flash of a passing streetlight. M drives, V sits in the passenger seat. The windows next to each are cracked, with the wind tugging at the stray strands of hair beyond the control of hair elastics.
M: What I find so amazing about Bill Murray is that he became famous and established by being the crazy, outlandish character. Yet this resurgange features such deadpan, almost morose men. And he just nails it.
V: I never thought, growing up, that I'd be able to see a film with him as a serious character and not think of him as a SNL character. But you just lose yourself in what he's doing. He's just so damn good.
M: Mmmhmmm.
M pulls up to a traffic light. It turns red as they approach. A Mercedes SUV pulls up to V's right.
V: I'm glad you liked it better than "Lost in Translation." I still can't believe you didn't like that movie.
M: Sophia! Ugh!
V and M laugh, then quiet down. Each are quietly contemplating "Broken Flowers," the film they had just seen at the Art Deco-inspired movie theater in Brookline. Each individually become aware of the radio broadcast audible from the Mercedes. Neither look at the other car, but both listen.
TALK SHOW HOST: Now keep in mind that the technique for making this wine varies depending on the grape being used and the desire intensity of the flavor. Red grapes will require less time boiling in the water than their green counterparts. White grapes require the least in order to keep that crisp, fresh flavor.
The light turns green.
TALK SHOW HOST: Without the need to concern oneself with fermentation...
The Mercedes driver drives away. His profile is never visible, save a glimpse of arm against the neon orange dashboard lights visible as he moves ahead of the Jeep. M and V pause for a moment and turn to face each other. They pause. Then laugh.
M: It never fails. Whenever I go to a really good movie, there will be some moment during the drive after that feels like it came right out of the movie. That was it.
END SCENE
What Was In the Cards
"Make sure to pick out a word for the day," M said as we stood in line at the checkout counter. She had decided to buy several of the buttons we'd laughed over, and had just noticed the small box filled with foil stickers.
I reached in, making sure not to peek, and pulled out a slip of paper. It was gold, with black letters.
Repeat.
Repeat what, precisely? Repeat getting a tarot reading conducted by a woman who shared my first name and astrological sign? Repeat the order for the perfect iced latte I'd picked up on my way from Beverly to Quincy earlier that morning? Repeat listening to Matt Nathanson's "All Been Said Before" as I found a parking spot outside the shop?
What am I supposed to think about repeating? I was getting annoyed, looking at the word. Because if the morning's reading had been any indication, I thought I knew what it was suggesting I do.
Repeat looking like an absolute idiot.
And I wasn't particularly keen on the idea.
I had settled into a wooden chair about twenty minutes earlier, in a partitioned cubicle with shoulder-high walls and a screened door. The reader settled into her seat and handed me a deck of large, purple cards. She asked me to shuffle before she spread the cards out and instructed me to pick out 16 of them, placing one on top of the other in the center of the table.
"Think about what you want to know about."
I wasn't sure what I wanted to know about. Besides, I was nervous. Fun as tarot can be - and long as it had been since I'd gone for my only other reading - I suddenly didn't know if I wanted to know what was supposedly in the cards. Whether I believed in tarot or not - and I wasn't sure which was the case.
I focused on picking out the cards and not losing count.
She took the pile, straightened it and began flipping the cards over - left to right, top to bottom, four groups of four. Her eyebrows rose at the first card, but she didn't say anything until the sixth.
"Are you in a relationship right now?"
Nope.
"No, I'm not."
She looked up. "You're not?"
Did I stutter?
"No."
"That's strange." She straightened the fourth card and looked down at the rest. "I'm seeing something and it's very much in the now. This isn't a future thing."
Well, I'm not.
But then she started to talk about me and things that had happened recently. Things I'd been pondering. She was good. I didn't know what I thought, but I knew I felt unsettled.
When she spoke about me, she was incredibly accurate. So when she spoke about someone else, I wanted to believe her. But she was telling me things that went against what I was seeing; against that which I had already decided to do.
"That's not really something I think I want to consider anymore."
She looked up quickly. "Don't give up on it," she said. "Don't. It's going to be good for you. Don't take what happened personally."
Had a friend or acquaintance told me to not take it personally, I probably would have fired an expletive back at them. Don't take it personally? I look and feel like an absolute moron. I WILL take that personally, thanks.
But I had already paid for the session and I still had a good ten minutes left, so I just nodded. Besides, it would have been bad karma to bitch out someone with the same first name and astrological sign as me. It would have felt like bitching myself out.
I changed the subject and decided to ask about my health. She answered that in about 45 seconds and segued it back to the previous topic. It was important, she said.
So after I thanked her, laughed over the odds of our chance meeting and carefully moved the screen so I could walk out, I found myself staring at a slip of paper with the word "Repeat" on it.
Repeat? I wished I'd just been told I'd come into a fortune someday instead.
During the car ride after, I popped in "When The Pawn..." and cued up Track 9.
-----------
I don't like bees.
I'm actually pretty terrified of them.
I've been known to run, shrieking in the opposite direction, when I've heard a bee buzzing nearby.
So why precisely I felt inclined to buy lip gloss promising the look and feel of "bee-stung lips" is beyond me.
Perhaps I wanted to take my lip propduct obsession to the next level.
Perhaps I was trying to do whatever I could to not decipher the Sephora makeover artists' somewhat backhanded observations about my facial features.
(And to think I was supposed to walk out of a makeover feeling like a million bucks...)
Or perhaps it was just that I wanted to know what it would feel like if a bee or three stung my mouth.
Whatever the reason, I bought it. And now I have a problem.
I really like this stuff.
My lips feel cool on the surface, on top of a layer of heat. It makes me think of eating Fireballs as a kid. If you took a Fireball and held it to your lips, it would feel like this lip gloss.
Which is particularly amusing, as I was one of those kids who used to enjoy eating Fireballs, but couldn't take the heat. In order to enjoy the sweet candy inside, I unwrapped the Fireball and put it in water. That way I didn't have to endure the red-faced spiciness.
Conquering childhood candy demons?
Hmm. Perhaps that's why.
-----------
-----------
T and I sat in the shade of a tree in the Common. He had forgotten his bike lock, and I wanted to be sure a stolen bike wasn't the price paid for a visit with me. It was slightly less broiling beneath the three, but I was happy I thought to get us cold bottled water.
We ran through the quick, "So how was your week?" exchange. I was telling him about my excursion to Southie for brunch, chatting with "the girls" over mimosas and the run-in with someone I hadn't seen in several years.
He tied a piece of grass into a knot. "Um, you're going to be mad at me after I share my next news."
"Hmm?" I finished my sip and cocked an eyebrow. "What's up?"
"It looks like I'm going to get to California before you."
"Bastard."
"I know. I'm sorry."
"Where?"
"San Francisco."
"When?"
"Late September."
"OK. So. Send me a postcard, take a unique photograph of something quirky in the city for me and be sure to tell me about what you think of it. Deal?"
"Deal." He grinned. "That was easy. I was going to do all of that anyway. Goes without saying."
-----------
I have to laugh at myself when I attend a Tori show. I find that I sit with a straight back, hands folded in my lap, the image of proper. I don't know why, except the fact that I want to be able to lift my eyes to see as much as I can and maybe, just maybe, I subconsciously think that good behavior - and perfect posture - will be rewarded with a performance of "Gold Dust."
I'll have to be just as poised next time, as she did not dust the song off for Boston. But I was thrilled with those she did select - when she launches into the rest of the set (after the tour standard "Original Sinsuality") with "Caught A Lite Sneeze" and (hurrah!) "Amber Waves," a good night is all but promised. And then "Winter" pops up, and then "Cool On Your Island" and the cover of "Total Eclipse of the Heart" she's been promising for the last week or so of shows - and it's one of the best covers you've heard her do - and, oh wait, there's "Tear In Your Hand." At that point the show is fantastic. By the time she's wrapped up her four encore songs - including a cover of "Dream On" - with "1000 Oceans," the show reaches the rank of "This had better be one of the live shows she releases."
I reached in, making sure not to peek, and pulled out a slip of paper. It was gold, with black letters.
Repeat.
Repeat what, precisely? Repeat getting a tarot reading conducted by a woman who shared my first name and astrological sign? Repeat the order for the perfect iced latte I'd picked up on my way from Beverly to Quincy earlier that morning? Repeat listening to Matt Nathanson's "All Been Said Before" as I found a parking spot outside the shop?
What am I supposed to think about repeating? I was getting annoyed, looking at the word. Because if the morning's reading had been any indication, I thought I knew what it was suggesting I do.
Repeat looking like an absolute idiot.
And I wasn't particularly keen on the idea.
I had settled into a wooden chair about twenty minutes earlier, in a partitioned cubicle with shoulder-high walls and a screened door. The reader settled into her seat and handed me a deck of large, purple cards. She asked me to shuffle before she spread the cards out and instructed me to pick out 16 of them, placing one on top of the other in the center of the table.
"Think about what you want to know about."
I wasn't sure what I wanted to know about. Besides, I was nervous. Fun as tarot can be - and long as it had been since I'd gone for my only other reading - I suddenly didn't know if I wanted to know what was supposedly in the cards. Whether I believed in tarot or not - and I wasn't sure which was the case.
I focused on picking out the cards and not losing count.
She took the pile, straightened it and began flipping the cards over - left to right, top to bottom, four groups of four. Her eyebrows rose at the first card, but she didn't say anything until the sixth.
"Are you in a relationship right now?"
Nope.
"No, I'm not."
She looked up. "You're not?"
Did I stutter?
"No."
"That's strange." She straightened the fourth card and looked down at the rest. "I'm seeing something and it's very much in the now. This isn't a future thing."
Well, I'm not.
But then she started to talk about me and things that had happened recently. Things I'd been pondering. She was good. I didn't know what I thought, but I knew I felt unsettled.
When she spoke about me, she was incredibly accurate. So when she spoke about someone else, I wanted to believe her. But she was telling me things that went against what I was seeing; against that which I had already decided to do.
"That's not really something I think I want to consider anymore."
She looked up quickly. "Don't give up on it," she said. "Don't. It's going to be good for you. Don't take what happened personally."
Had a friend or acquaintance told me to not take it personally, I probably would have fired an expletive back at them. Don't take it personally? I look and feel like an absolute moron. I WILL take that personally, thanks.
But I had already paid for the session and I still had a good ten minutes left, so I just nodded. Besides, it would have been bad karma to bitch out someone with the same first name and astrological sign as me. It would have felt like bitching myself out.
I changed the subject and decided to ask about my health. She answered that in about 45 seconds and segued it back to the previous topic. It was important, she said.
So after I thanked her, laughed over the odds of our chance meeting and carefully moved the screen so I could walk out, I found myself staring at a slip of paper with the word "Repeat" on it.
Repeat? I wished I'd just been told I'd come into a fortune someday instead.
During the car ride after, I popped in "When The Pawn..." and cued up Track 9.
-----------
I don't like bees.
I'm actually pretty terrified of them.
I've been known to run, shrieking in the opposite direction, when I've heard a bee buzzing nearby.
So why precisely I felt inclined to buy lip gloss promising the look and feel of "bee-stung lips" is beyond me.
Perhaps I wanted to take my lip propduct obsession to the next level.
Perhaps I was trying to do whatever I could to not decipher the Sephora makeover artists' somewhat backhanded observations about my facial features.
(And to think I was supposed to walk out of a makeover feeling like a million bucks...)
Or perhaps it was just that I wanted to know what it would feel like if a bee or three stung my mouth.
Whatever the reason, I bought it. And now I have a problem.
I really like this stuff.
My lips feel cool on the surface, on top of a layer of heat. It makes me think of eating Fireballs as a kid. If you took a Fireball and held it to your lips, it would feel like this lip gloss.
Which is particularly amusing, as I was one of those kids who used to enjoy eating Fireballs, but couldn't take the heat. In order to enjoy the sweet candy inside, I unwrapped the Fireball and put it in water. That way I didn't have to endure the red-faced spiciness.
Conquering childhood candy demons?
Hmm. Perhaps that's why.
-----------
-----------
T and I sat in the shade of a tree in the Common. He had forgotten his bike lock, and I wanted to be sure a stolen bike wasn't the price paid for a visit with me. It was slightly less broiling beneath the three, but I was happy I thought to get us cold bottled water.
We ran through the quick, "So how was your week?" exchange. I was telling him about my excursion to Southie for brunch, chatting with "the girls" over mimosas and the run-in with someone I hadn't seen in several years.
He tied a piece of grass into a knot. "Um, you're going to be mad at me after I share my next news."
"Hmm?" I finished my sip and cocked an eyebrow. "What's up?"
"It looks like I'm going to get to California before you."
"Bastard."
"I know. I'm sorry."
"Where?"
"San Francisco."
"When?"
"Late September."
"OK. So. Send me a postcard, take a unique photograph of something quirky in the city for me and be sure to tell me about what you think of it. Deal?"
"Deal." He grinned. "That was easy. I was going to do all of that anyway. Goes without saying."
-----------
I have to laugh at myself when I attend a Tori show. I find that I sit with a straight back, hands folded in my lap, the image of proper. I don't know why, except the fact that I want to be able to lift my eyes to see as much as I can and maybe, just maybe, I subconsciously think that good behavior - and perfect posture - will be rewarded with a performance of "Gold Dust."
I'll have to be just as poised next time, as she did not dust the song off for Boston. But I was thrilled with those she did select - when she launches into the rest of the set (after the tour standard "Original Sinsuality") with "Caught A Lite Sneeze" and (hurrah!) "Amber Waves," a good night is all but promised. And then "Winter" pops up, and then "Cool On Your Island" and the cover of "Total Eclipse of the Heart" she's been promising for the last week or so of shows - and it's one of the best covers you've heard her do - and, oh wait, there's "Tear In Your Hand." At that point the show is fantastic. By the time she's wrapped up her four encore songs - including a cover of "Dream On" - with "1000 Oceans," the show reaches the rank of "This had better be one of the live shows she releases."
ASJgkjioagjizzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Tori Amos show.
Trip to Boston.
Amazing seats.
Incredible setlist.
Outstanding show.
Early morning drive home.
This is developing into a pattern.
But as long as she keeps giving the Boston area great performances, I'll be more than willing to make the (rise at the break of dawn and drink coffee while blaring music to get back home in time) effort to do whatever I can to be there for it.
The weekend was grand. Very full, very grand. If I have the coherence to write about it, I shall do so soon. "Bee stung," tarot reading and mimosas, oh my!
(To see Tori's setlist and a couple of fan reviews, check out the show's page on The Dent by clicking here.)
Trip to Boston.
Amazing seats.
Incredible setlist.
Outstanding show.
Early morning drive home.
This is developing into a pattern.
But as long as she keeps giving the Boston area great performances, I'll be more than willing to make the (rise at the break of dawn and drink coffee while blaring music to get back home in time) effort to do whatever I can to be there for it.
The weekend was grand. Very full, very grand. If I have the coherence to write about it, I shall do so soon. "Bee stung," tarot reading and mimosas, oh my!
(To see Tori's setlist and a couple of fan reviews, check out the show's page on The Dent by clicking here.)
8.19.2005
Sweet as salt
How do you know it's time to invest in an espresso machine?
Before you and your friend even approach the counter, the Starbucks employee grins. "Let me guess. Two grande iced caramel non-fat lattes?"
------
I made a special mix CD for this evening's Commonwealth venture. The Guilty Pleasure Mix will serve as soundtrack to my travels along the highways that stand between myself and Massachusetts.
That I will be traveling solo means I will be able to roll the windows down and unabashedly deliver god-awful car karaoke renditions of songs I never normally would even try singing.
If you're on the road and you happen to hear a cover of Kelly Clarkson's "Since You've Been Gone" that makes your ears want to bleed, just smile. Look straight ahead. Don't pay any attention.
I've spent enough of the week either working hard or feeling glum. I'm ready for some laughter.
I crack a window
And feel the cool air cleanse my every pore
As I pour my poor heart out
To a radio song that's patient and willing to listen
My volume drowns it out...
-------
And, finally. Three years ago tomorrow, I found, explored and secured my apartment in D.C.
Three years ago Sunday, I wrote the following:
i don't know about you, but i'm going to be living it up in the greater boston area one more time when averi rocks the hob cambridge. care to join me for one last night (at least for a little while) of new england drunken debauchery?
more tomorrow--all this trapsing around has exhausted me and i need to start sorting/packing in the a.m. now i reward myself with a viewing of "empire records" and the inevitable continuation of a rousing game of phone tag. ;)
Before you and your friend even approach the counter, the Starbucks employee grins. "Let me guess. Two grande iced caramel non-fat lattes?"
------
I made a special mix CD for this evening's Commonwealth venture. The Guilty Pleasure Mix will serve as soundtrack to my travels along the highways that stand between myself and Massachusetts.
That I will be traveling solo means I will be able to roll the windows down and unabashedly deliver god-awful car karaoke renditions of songs I never normally would even try singing.
If you're on the road and you happen to hear a cover of Kelly Clarkson's "Since You've Been Gone" that makes your ears want to bleed, just smile. Look straight ahead. Don't pay any attention.
I've spent enough of the week either working hard or feeling glum. I'm ready for some laughter.
I crack a window
And feel the cool air cleanse my every pore
As I pour my poor heart out
To a radio song that's patient and willing to listen
My volume drowns it out...
-------
And, finally. Three years ago tomorrow, I found, explored and secured my apartment in D.C.
Three years ago Sunday, I wrote the following:
i don't know about you, but i'm going to be living it up in the greater boston area one more time when averi rocks the hob cambridge. care to join me for one last night (at least for a little while) of new england drunken debauchery?
more tomorrow--all this trapsing around has exhausted me and i need to start sorting/packing in the a.m. now i reward myself with a viewing of "empire records" and the inevitable continuation of a rousing game of phone tag. ;)
8.18.2005
Best. Thing. Ever. (As in the link, that is)
We're going to break away briefly from V's temporary foray into melodrama to check in with the Pop Culture Scene. Lastest headlines? Jude in the Nude: South of France photos suggest -
- We interrupt this to briefly mock those who try to pretend they don't know about the Jude photos. Curl back up under the imaginary rock. Back to the story.
Fitted Sweats has provided the best Day After snippet I've come across in a good long time.
Check out "A Brief Word..." by clicking on me. Do it. Now. Come on, you know you want to.
- We interrupt this to briefly mock those who try to pretend they don't know about the Jude photos. Curl back up under the imaginary rock. Back to the story.
Fitted Sweats has provided the best Day After snippet I've come across in a good long time.
Check out "A Brief Word..." by clicking on me. Do it. Now. Come on, you know you want to.
I was already seated at the small, round table. B walked in the coffeeshop's front door, saw me and quickly walked to the table. She slumped into the seat more than she sat down on it. It was the same frustrated gesture I'd demonstrated a few moments earlier - an attempt to stomp away the bullshit of the day.
It didn't work for either of us.
"How's the day going?" I asked cautiously.
"It's one of those days," she replied. "You?"
"The same."
Harumpf. It had been a long week, a constant test of patience. I'd been impressed with our tenacity, but knew that I was starting to lose steam. I assumed she was as well.
It just needed to be the weekend.
"So what are you going to get? Venti?" I'd called her earlier and left a voicemail. Coffee. Call me. Um, yeah.
"I think so, yeah. You?"
She paused. "Know what sounds good right now? A grasshopper." Espresso and cocoa blend with a shot of mint. Reserved for those days when you Really Need It.
"Done. Let's go."
It was a good call.
It didn't work for either of us.
"How's the day going?" I asked cautiously.
"It's one of those days," she replied. "You?"
"The same."
Harumpf. It had been a long week, a constant test of patience. I'd been impressed with our tenacity, but knew that I was starting to lose steam. I assumed she was as well.
It just needed to be the weekend.
"So what are you going to get? Venti?" I'd called her earlier and left a voicemail. Coffee. Call me. Um, yeah.
"I think so, yeah. You?"
She paused. "Know what sounds good right now? A grasshopper." Espresso and cocoa blend with a shot of mint. Reserved for those days when you Really Need It.
"Done. Let's go."
It was a good call.
8.17.2005
Are you still mine all mine for a portion of the day Sunday?
We miss you. When are you getting down here again?
Grasshopper brunch. You know you want to go.
When I was younger, My Massachusetts consisted of a very small swath of land. My old house in Middleton and the route to my grandmother's house in Beverly - that was the main patch. There were small offshoots, branching off to family and familiar spots in Lynn, Peabody, Danvers and the like. And, in rare occasions, a foray into Boston.
I remember riding in a car from Lynn to Boston and traveling under a tunnel, but the recollection is seriously skewed. In my memory, I closed my eyes upon entering the tunnel and was in Lynn. When I opened my eyes after the tunnel, I was in Boston.
As I grew older, my favorite state bulked up. I moved from traveling the familiar routes in the backseat to taking control of the trip from the driver's seat. Ventures to the South Shore surfaced; the trip to Quincy became second-nature. Then I learned about getting into Southie. Driving into Cambridge. Demonstrating to Vermont friends how one drives on Storrow. Where on Commonwealth to turn so you can get in the right direction en route to Paradise. Traveling to Somerville and Mission Hill. Taking a quick trip to Braintree. Riding over to Franklin.
But the best part of adding a new location to the V map of Massachusetts is when someone wants to see you. When Massachusetts feels less like a place you want to take on and get to know and more like a place you just happen to be displaced from for the time being. Because it's not just that you want to live in a place and make friends with those you come across; instead a place where many of the people you've befriended happen to live.
And when you prepare to visit this place, you realize you've a list of people you want to see and a list of people you will see. And you're pleased to know that the third list, the people who want to see you, is growing. And that feels pretty lovely.
It will be a good weekend.
We miss you. When are you getting down here again?
Grasshopper brunch. You know you want to go.
When I was younger, My Massachusetts consisted of a very small swath of land. My old house in Middleton and the route to my grandmother's house in Beverly - that was the main patch. There were small offshoots, branching off to family and familiar spots in Lynn, Peabody, Danvers and the like. And, in rare occasions, a foray into Boston.
I remember riding in a car from Lynn to Boston and traveling under a tunnel, but the recollection is seriously skewed. In my memory, I closed my eyes upon entering the tunnel and was in Lynn. When I opened my eyes after the tunnel, I was in Boston.
As I grew older, my favorite state bulked up. I moved from traveling the familiar routes in the backseat to taking control of the trip from the driver's seat. Ventures to the South Shore surfaced; the trip to Quincy became second-nature. Then I learned about getting into Southie. Driving into Cambridge. Demonstrating to Vermont friends how one drives on Storrow. Where on Commonwealth to turn so you can get in the right direction en route to Paradise. Traveling to Somerville and Mission Hill. Taking a quick trip to Braintree. Riding over to Franklin.
But the best part of adding a new location to the V map of Massachusetts is when someone wants to see you. When Massachusetts feels less like a place you want to take on and get to know and more like a place you just happen to be displaced from for the time being. Because it's not just that you want to live in a place and make friends with those you come across; instead a place where many of the people you've befriended happen to live.
And when you prepare to visit this place, you realize you've a list of people you want to see and a list of people you will see. And you're pleased to know that the third list, the people who want to see you, is growing. And that feels pretty lovely.
It will be a good weekend.
8.16.2005
"Hey, it's me. I hope your run went well. We're down at Battery Park, and we're going to do some reading and relaxing until sunset. We brought out cameras. You should come join us! Give me a call, talk to you soon. Bye."
I brought my notebook, with every intention of doing some writing as I relaxed in the grass. But I never got the chance. Instead, I walked along ledges, climbed onto rocks and tried to capture the oranges, pinks and blues shining across the lake.
The three of us had each remarked on the fact that the summer has been so busy - and that we hadn't been around for very many weekends - that we hadn't appropriately appreciated the fact that we live a short walk from one of the most gorgeous sunset sites around. We'd made a few ventures, of course, but the days were quickly starting to shorten and the air would soon grow crisp with the approaching autumn.
I tried to look at everything as if I'd never seen it before. I played with light and shadow, using my camera to capture the backlit trees, buildings and visitors against the quickly deepening oranges. I looked into the canon, actually read the Battery Park sign. I watched C's profile as he propped his foot against a railing; I tried to sneak a photo of his contemplation without his knowledge. I did the same with a bicyclist, a nun and a couple of pedestrians. They all looked so peaceful as they stared out over the water.
I likewise tried to remain oblivious to the fact that B was again turning the photographic tables on me, laughingly documenting my documentation of an evening sunset.
We walked toward the waterfront, stopping first at a fountain that I'd never seen actually spout water, then a cafe along Battery Street, where we ordered black raspberry soft serve cones. C took his raspberry-vanilla swirl and held it against the sky.
"Look, I'm eating the sky," he said. The pink and white swirls streaked in a pattern not unlike that above our heads.
B turned to look at the darkening sky, which had taken on shades of green, blue and purple.
"Looks like the sky is bruised."
As the bruises faded, we turned to return up the hill toward the dark blue night sky.
----------
In other news. I'm starting to put together the Madness That Is October Schedule and figuring out when I'm going to take a vacation and take in all of the craziness scheduled to approach that month.
Thus far, I've got two "Mr. A-Z" stops (Montreal and Boston); one or two Nathanson Paradise shows; a possible Montbleau CD release; one Nickel Creek and, from what I hear, Alex Woodard. I know I'm missing something. Can't think of what it is.
Anything else I should add to the list of probables? Drop a comment and let me know.
Speaking of shows. THE HOTEL CAFE TOUR AT PARADISE LOUNGE ON SEPTEMBER 10. Hello.
That weekend will be lovely. SK & the Sixers Friday in Vermont. Cary Brothers, Joshua Radin and TOM MCRAE Saturday in Boston.
Game on.
I brought my notebook, with every intention of doing some writing as I relaxed in the grass. But I never got the chance. Instead, I walked along ledges, climbed onto rocks and tried to capture the oranges, pinks and blues shining across the lake.
The three of us had each remarked on the fact that the summer has been so busy - and that we hadn't been around for very many weekends - that we hadn't appropriately appreciated the fact that we live a short walk from one of the most gorgeous sunset sites around. We'd made a few ventures, of course, but the days were quickly starting to shorten and the air would soon grow crisp with the approaching autumn.
I tried to look at everything as if I'd never seen it before. I played with light and shadow, using my camera to capture the backlit trees, buildings and visitors against the quickly deepening oranges. I looked into the canon, actually read the Battery Park sign. I watched C's profile as he propped his foot against a railing; I tried to sneak a photo of his contemplation without his knowledge. I did the same with a bicyclist, a nun and a couple of pedestrians. They all looked so peaceful as they stared out over the water.
I likewise tried to remain oblivious to the fact that B was again turning the photographic tables on me, laughingly documenting my documentation of an evening sunset.
We walked toward the waterfront, stopping first at a fountain that I'd never seen actually spout water, then a cafe along Battery Street, where we ordered black raspberry soft serve cones. C took his raspberry-vanilla swirl and held it against the sky.
"Look, I'm eating the sky," he said. The pink and white swirls streaked in a pattern not unlike that above our heads.
B turned to look at the darkening sky, which had taken on shades of green, blue and purple.
"Looks like the sky is bruised."
As the bruises faded, we turned to return up the hill toward the dark blue night sky.
----------
In other news. I'm starting to put together the Madness That Is October Schedule and figuring out when I'm going to take a vacation and take in all of the craziness scheduled to approach that month.
Thus far, I've got two "Mr. A-Z" stops (Montreal and Boston); one or two Nathanson Paradise shows; a possible Montbleau CD release; one Nickel Creek and, from what I hear, Alex Woodard. I know I'm missing something. Can't think of what it is.
Anything else I should add to the list of probables? Drop a comment and let me know.
Speaking of shows. THE HOTEL CAFE TOUR AT PARADISE LOUNGE ON SEPTEMBER 10. Hello.
That weekend will be lovely. SK & the Sixers Friday in Vermont. Cary Brothers, Joshua Radin and TOM MCRAE Saturday in Boston.
Game on.
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