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...
2.08.2005
"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?
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?
2.07.2005
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..."
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.
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.
2.06.2005
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...
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...
2.04.2005
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.
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.
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.
2.03.2005
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.
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.
2.02.2005
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.
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.
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.
2.01.2005
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.
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.
1.31.2005
zzzzz
status check - Exhausted
background ambiance - Silence
And now for something completely different...I'm tired! Whee!
My flatmates and I wind up pulling a Mystery Science Theater 3000 each time we find ourselves watching "The Bachelorette." While often loathe to admit guilty television pleasures, the quotes from tonight amused me enough to feel the need to record them for all time.
"Yep, we've gotten old. Instead of auditioning for The Real World, we'd sign contracts agreeing to end up married."
"Fabrice's secret? *strong French accent* I'm not the man you thought I was ... *drops accent* I'm just from Nebraska, OK?"
"No, Jerry needs to be in the final two. And lose. Because then we can write me in for the next season of The Bachelor." - OK, guess who made that remark...
*Chanting* "Kiss her...kiss her...kiss her..."
*Chorus* "Aw, BENNNNNNNNN..."
"It's not that I'm a closeted Bachelorette fan. I'm a closeted Anything That Happens To Be On TV fan."
In other news. Virginia Coalition. Nectar's. Tomorrow night. Time to balance all this work with some play and crazy-ass smile-inducing percussion. Be there.
background ambiance - Silence
And now for something completely different...I'm tired! Whee!
My flatmates and I wind up pulling a Mystery Science Theater 3000 each time we find ourselves watching "The Bachelorette." While often loathe to admit guilty television pleasures, the quotes from tonight amused me enough to feel the need to record them for all time.
"Yep, we've gotten old. Instead of auditioning for The Real World, we'd sign contracts agreeing to end up married."
"Fabrice's secret? *strong French accent* I'm not the man you thought I was ... *drops accent* I'm just from Nebraska, OK?"
"No, Jerry needs to be in the final two. And lose. Because then we can write me in for the next season of The Bachelor." - OK, guess who made that remark...
*Chanting* "Kiss her...kiss her...kiss her..."
*Chorus* "Aw, BENNNNNNNNN..."
"It's not that I'm a closeted Bachelorette fan. I'm a closeted Anything That Happens To Be On TV fan."
In other news. Virginia Coalition. Nectar's. Tomorrow night. Time to balance all this work with some play and crazy-ass smile-inducing percussion. Be there.
1.30.2005
Worthwhile weariness
status check - Exhausted
background ambiance - Television
Beyond worn out. But a good kind of tired - the kind that leaves you smiling because you spent two straight days alternating between friends and family. Sure, you're exhausted. But you'd take this fatigue over being lonely any day.
Quick roundup. This weekend brought us back to Higher Ground - this time for Melissa Ferrick. The show marked the second MF show I've attended (albeit the first in ... three years?) and also the second trip to Higher Ground. That both Sister Hazel and Melissa went out of their way to comment on how amazing the Burlington music-loving audiences always are brought a smile to my face.
Note to all cheerleaders. Everywhere. LET THE COTTON-EYED JOE DIE ALREADY. God. My 11-year-old cousin was competing in an youth cheerleading competition, so I played good cousing and attended. If I can remember a cheerleading routine from 1996 (when I wasn't even a cheerleader - basketball, thank you!), it's been around too long.
I'm in a (somewhat uncharacteristic) people-loving mood this evening. My flatmates and I were lucky enough to receive a Julie visit this weekend, and she always brings a refreshing sense of giddy enthusiasm about everything. It's infectious, really. Although already a group pone to laughter, we wind up laughing even more during Julie weekends.
And then, rather than the energy crash that comes late on a Sunday afternoon, we wind up with iced lattes, Chinese food and plum Miso Pretty lip gloss I've been searching for for eons (Hush now - every gal needs to indulge in something frivilous and girly once in awhile). I also received the added grin-prompting bonus of a quick, random email from miles away just to say hi. See? I told you people are fabulous this evening.
Adding to the amusement? The Australian Web-surfer who stumbled across my blog by searching for "I adore Elizabeth Wakefield." The flatmate who surprised me with a perfectly-phrased cell phone call after overhearing my playful conversation with my other flatmate.
Hearing a voice behind me say dreamily, "I think in heaven, there are big whipped cream clouds covered in caramel, and iced latte swimming pools."
I might be weary, but I still have the energy to chuckle.
In other news. I received my pre-ordered copy of Averi's "Drawn to Revolving Doors" on Friday ... thoughts on it to come within the next day or two, as I'd like to give it a few listens first.
background ambiance - Television
Beyond worn out. But a good kind of tired - the kind that leaves you smiling because you spent two straight days alternating between friends and family. Sure, you're exhausted. But you'd take this fatigue over being lonely any day.
Quick roundup. This weekend brought us back to Higher Ground - this time for Melissa Ferrick. The show marked the second MF show I've attended (albeit the first in ... three years?) and also the second trip to Higher Ground. That both Sister Hazel and Melissa went out of their way to comment on how amazing the Burlington music-loving audiences always are brought a smile to my face.
Note to all cheerleaders. Everywhere. LET THE COTTON-EYED JOE DIE ALREADY. God. My 11-year-old cousin was competing in an youth cheerleading competition, so I played good cousing and attended. If I can remember a cheerleading routine from 1996 (when I wasn't even a cheerleader - basketball, thank you!), it's been around too long.
I'm in a (somewhat uncharacteristic) people-loving mood this evening. My flatmates and I were lucky enough to receive a Julie visit this weekend, and she always brings a refreshing sense of giddy enthusiasm about everything. It's infectious, really. Although already a group pone to laughter, we wind up laughing even more during Julie weekends.
And then, rather than the energy crash that comes late on a Sunday afternoon, we wind up with iced lattes, Chinese food and plum Miso Pretty lip gloss I've been searching for for eons (Hush now - every gal needs to indulge in something frivilous and girly once in awhile). I also received the added grin-prompting bonus of a quick, random email from miles away just to say hi. See? I told you people are fabulous this evening.
Adding to the amusement? The Australian Web-surfer who stumbled across my blog by searching for "I adore Elizabeth Wakefield." The flatmate who surprised me with a perfectly-phrased cell phone call after overhearing my playful conversation with my other flatmate.
Hearing a voice behind me say dreamily, "I think in heaven, there are big whipped cream clouds covered in caramel, and iced latte swimming pools."
I might be weary, but I still have the energy to chuckle.
In other news. I received my pre-ordered copy of Averi's "Drawn to Revolving Doors" on Friday ... thoughts on it to come within the next day or two, as I'd like to give it a few listens first.
1.28.2005
Night Writer
status check - Sleep-deprived
background ambiance - Tristan Prettyman, "Love, Love, Love"
Random things stumble through your mind when you've tossed and turned until 3:31 a.m.
I gave up on trying to fall asleep last night (this morning?), turned on the light and reached over to grab my notebook and pen. Figured I'd just write whatever came to mind so I'd get it out of my head and I could finally drift off.
Looking back at the scribbled-over page this morning, I discovered that little things I generally ignore took precedent in my semi-conscious state. It wasn't necessarily what I was thinking, but what I was hearing, feeling, seeing in my contact-less hazy vision. I wrote about the creaks the house made as it settled in for the night (even it was more ready for a few hours' peace than I). The sound of sneakers crushing snow as a late-night wanderer walked past down the street. The slow stretch my muscles felt as I straightened out from my dozing contortions.
I would have much perferred blissfully sleeping through this late-night work session, but if it had to happen, at least it could teach me a lesson. I spend so much time in my writing focusing on people saying or thinking things - I always enjoy what I write when I focus on little things but don't do it nearly as often as I should.
Lesson learned - great. So I'll thank myself by buying myself a big ol' cup of coffee so I can stay awake the day after.
background ambiance - Tristan Prettyman, "Love, Love, Love"
Random things stumble through your mind when you've tossed and turned until 3:31 a.m.
I gave up on trying to fall asleep last night (this morning?), turned on the light and reached over to grab my notebook and pen. Figured I'd just write whatever came to mind so I'd get it out of my head and I could finally drift off.
Looking back at the scribbled-over page this morning, I discovered that little things I generally ignore took precedent in my semi-conscious state. It wasn't necessarily what I was thinking, but what I was hearing, feeling, seeing in my contact-less hazy vision. I wrote about the creaks the house made as it settled in for the night (even it was more ready for a few hours' peace than I). The sound of sneakers crushing snow as a late-night wanderer walked past down the street. The slow stretch my muscles felt as I straightened out from my dozing contortions.
I would have much perferred blissfully sleeping through this late-night work session, but if it had to happen, at least it could teach me a lesson. I spend so much time in my writing focusing on people saying or thinking things - I always enjoy what I write when I focus on little things but don't do it nearly as often as I should.
Lesson learned - great. So I'll thank myself by buying myself a big ol' cup of coffee so I can stay awake the day after.
1.27.2005
Boys of Summer
status check - Pleased
background ambiance - The Postal Service, "Nothing Better"
We interrupt this week's lethargy to gleefully announce that my co-favorite Red Sox players will officially be back for the 2005 season, I've already got tickets for a game in April and my father [updated: my father and i both were] among those selected for the pre-sale tomorrow.
We've got JV. We've got Millar (thank goodness). Fenway will be gorgeous and I can't wait for spring.
background ambiance - The Postal Service, "Nothing Better"
We interrupt this week's lethargy to gleefully announce that my co-favorite Red Sox players will officially be back for the 2005 season, I've already got tickets for a game in April and my father [updated: my father and i both were] among those selected for the pre-sale tomorrow.
We've got JV. We've got Millar (thank goodness). Fenway will be gorgeous and I can't wait for spring.
Feign-free
status check - Meh.
background ambiance - Jason Mraz, "Geek in the Pink"
I often half-wish I was capable of detached indifference. It would be so much easier, I think to myself, if I was able to look at something and not feel anything. I'd be able to be casually aloof, distant, above all of the mess that comes with caring about things or people.
I say half-wish because I was indifferent once. I didn't give a damn about all of the things that I used to care about - those things that I care about again now. I raised indifference to a whole new level, really. I discovered that my all-or-nothing personality trait even applied indifference. If I wasn't going to bother with caring, I was going to go all out.
It wasn't a good scene - I didn't like who I'd become. So I fixed it. And things got better.
I'll take my sensitive self over that cold doppleganger anyday. But it would be nice, sometimes, to find that middle ground. To be fine with unanswered questions, to not think of the past while looking at the present. To not care about how I'm perceived by others. To not think about what effect my perceptions may have.
Or, at least, to be able to feign that indifference.
Unfortunately, however, years of experiences have begun to indicate that I'm never going to be able to feign as well as I want. So, instead, I'm stuck with caring.
Whether others do or not. And whether I like it or not.
background ambiance - Jason Mraz, "Geek in the Pink"
I often half-wish I was capable of detached indifference. It would be so much easier, I think to myself, if I was able to look at something and not feel anything. I'd be able to be casually aloof, distant, above all of the mess that comes with caring about things or people.
I say half-wish because I was indifferent once. I didn't give a damn about all of the things that I used to care about - those things that I care about again now. I raised indifference to a whole new level, really. I discovered that my all-or-nothing personality trait even applied indifference. If I wasn't going to bother with caring, I was going to go all out.
It wasn't a good scene - I didn't like who I'd become. So I fixed it. And things got better.
I'll take my sensitive self over that cold doppleganger anyday. But it would be nice, sometimes, to find that middle ground. To be fine with unanswered questions, to not think of the past while looking at the present. To not care about how I'm perceived by others. To not think about what effect my perceptions may have.
Or, at least, to be able to feign that indifference.
Unfortunately, however, years of experiences have begun to indicate that I'm never going to be able to feign as well as I want. So, instead, I'm stuck with caring.
Whether others do or not. And whether I like it or not.
"Now I'm hunched over a typewriter"
status check - Fine
background ambiance - Bright Eyes, "We Are Nowhere and It's Now"
It's hard to lock yourself into a commmitted relationship with a group of characters and basic plot arc. Most likely why other people don't try writing novels.
And partly why I keep on trying it. No, I haven't had success yet, but I know that if I keep persisting, something will click and work. I'll actually be satisfied with the work.
As for now, however, I'm not. Satisfied, that is. I keep pounding away at it, but everything sounds like drivel. The best writing is that which comes from your experiences ... but what if I'm not satisfied with my experiences thus far?
I was hoping that the novel would prove a welcome diversion this week, as I've been hindered by the listlessness that seems to have come over everyone. Perhaps there is some truth to the concept of a "most depressing day of the year" - perhaps this, the very bottom of the rut between winter and spring, has just been the most depressing week of the year.
We've all spent more time rubbing at knots in our backs than doing enough to put knots there. We've tried to muster up enthusiasm to burn through a few hours of work, but instead aimlessly click on Internet links and check email. Even the IM conversations designed to distract us consist of more ellipses than letters.
I mean, I'm feeling lethargic. I want to feel energized. Yet I'm listening to Bright Eyes.
It is a week just designed not to make sense.
background ambiance - Bright Eyes, "We Are Nowhere and It's Now"
It's hard to lock yourself into a commmitted relationship with a group of characters and basic plot arc. Most likely why other people don't try writing novels.
And partly why I keep on trying it. No, I haven't had success yet, but I know that if I keep persisting, something will click and work. I'll actually be satisfied with the work.
As for now, however, I'm not. Satisfied, that is. I keep pounding away at it, but everything sounds like drivel. The best writing is that which comes from your experiences ... but what if I'm not satisfied with my experiences thus far?
I was hoping that the novel would prove a welcome diversion this week, as I've been hindered by the listlessness that seems to have come over everyone. Perhaps there is some truth to the concept of a "most depressing day of the year" - perhaps this, the very bottom of the rut between winter and spring, has just been the most depressing week of the year.
We've all spent more time rubbing at knots in our backs than doing enough to put knots there. We've tried to muster up enthusiasm to burn through a few hours of work, but instead aimlessly click on Internet links and check email. Even the IM conversations designed to distract us consist of more ellipses than letters.
I mean, I'm feeling lethargic. I want to feel energized. Yet I'm listening to Bright Eyes.
It is a week just designed not to make sense.
1.26.2005
100 Things.
status check - Surprised
background ambiance - Ryan Montbleau, "Variety"
Saw similar lists pop up on several blogs lately, so I thought I'd give it a shot here. I haven't thought about some of these things in ages. Anyway. 100 Facts.
1. I spent a week as a guest artist at the John F. Kennedy Center for Performing Arts - twice - during college.
2. During one of those weeks, I heard Christine Baranski singing in the next rehearsal room over.
3. I spent a year working on The Hill. I know an ungodly amount of information about the Capitol.
4. Anything tastes better with either ketchup or salsa.
5. I have a weakness for James Dean - and have demonstrated a weakness in the past for those who look like him.
6. I think James Cagney was best young and in black and white.
7. My parents moved us to Vermont when I was five so they could own and run a country store.
8. I was voted "Most Musical" in my high school class.
9. I wore a tiara to my last day of high school.
10. I played college softball. For one year.
11. I was editor of my college newspaper.
12. I met Sydney Pollack and George Plimpton.
13. I've never been a Howard Dean fan.
14. But I've been a longtime Howie Day fan.
15. I interviewed John Mayer and Glenn Phillips about a year and a half before Mayer became a superstar.
16. Mayer played "Babylon" for me during soundcheck.
17. My all-time favorite movies are "Good Morning Vietnam" and "The Lion in Winter."
18. I have a crush on Zach Braff.
19. I organized a benefit concert.
20. I'm determined to see what all the hype is about in San Diego.
21. I don't care who the hell wrote Shakespeare's works, I'm just happy I can read them.
22. My love of Shakespeare was prompted by a "Boy Meets World" episode.
23. I wanted to be an archaeologist when I was young.
24. My first theatrical experience was as an assistant stage manager sophomore year of college.
25. I haven't been treated at a hospital since birth.
26. I have a fabulous, punk, vegan, younger, Bostonian brother.
27. My first real concert was New Kids on the Block. My second, too. My third was Aerosmith.
28. I went to two proms.
29. I've always been a night person.
30. I can't stand the taste of beer.
31. I love to fly.
32. I love to drive.
33. I stare at skylines until they fade away.
34. I thought about being a political science minor.
35. I thought about being a philosophy minor.
36. I wound up a drama minor.
37. Fenway Park is one of my favorite places in the world.
38. I can roll my r's.
39. I danced at an 80s-themed event next to the woman who played the eldest Cosby daughter on television.
40. I heard Daphne Rubin Vega (the original Mimi from "Rent") sing twice and said hi to her at a pub.
41. I was supposed to be born in early- to mid-October.
42. I waited until early November. My mother wasn't amused.
43. I'm ticklish beyond belief.
44. I don't like my laugh.
45. I love to sing harmony.
46. My softball team won the state championship senior year of high school.
47. I graduated high school in a class of 33.
48. I'm addicted to lip gloss/lip balm/lipstick.
49. I started a homemade blog before I knew what blogs were.
50. I never met my mother's father or my father's mother.
51. I looked exactly like another girl in my class in first and second grades.
52. I left Woodstock '99 before the riots
53. I'm two degrees away from Kevin Spacey.
54. The Doors were one of the greatest bands of all time.
55. At a Howie Day/Pat McGee Band show in 2000, I met Jesse Metcalfe, who was then Miguel on "Passions." Now he's John on "Desperate Housewives." He was even more attractive in person.
56. I took satellite AP classes in high school.
57. My least favorite class ever taken was Astronomy.
58. I hate the cold, but love New England.
59. I've never been in a photo booth.
60. I'm half Irish, and part English, Italian and French Canadian.
61. I took German for a language.
62. I was "God" for a semester (stage manager for "A Midsummer Night's Dream").
63. I've won awards for arts criticism.
64. I read an absurd number of Sweet Valley High books growing up. I wanted to be Elizabeth Wakefield.
65. I am startled easily.
66. I hate the taste of vinegar, mustard or mayonnaise.
67. I hate fish - cooked, raw, whatever.
68. I prefer small club concerts to full-blown large affairs.
69. I saw Sharon, Lois, Braham & Elephant when I was younger.
70. I loved the Boston Garden.
71. I attended the Red Sox victory parade.
72. I can't curl my tongue.
73. I took a class called "Literary Seductions."
74. Coffee is lifeblood.
75. I always prefer acoustic.
76. I've reclaimed my love of the color pink and 80s music.
77. I love photography, even if I wuss out and use digital.
78. I adore old theaters.
79. I chatted extensively with an actor from "Office Space."
80. I interviewed Lee Blessing.
81. I have an intellectual crush on Bradley Whitford.
82. I can't make rice. I just can't do it.
83. I microwave like you wouldn't believe.
84. Favorite compliment: "You look just like Donna from "The West Wing."
85. I performed in a murder mystery.
86. I was a member of a college improv troupe.
87. I cried the first time I heard "Gold Dust" live at a Tori show.
88. I still think Chipotle is the most addictive food ever.
89. I have shaky camera hands.
90. I love the ocean.
91. Sunrises are good, sunsets are better.
92. Anything sounds better with a British accent. Even if the accent is fake.
93. I can't drive a stick shift.
94. I read Thomas Hardy's "Jude the Obscure" online - in one sitting - during a last-ditch attempt to better my odds for the AP English exam.
95. I spent a semester DJing on our campus station.
96. People tell me I look like a Becky.
97. I went by Tori briefly freshman year of college.
98. I'll almost always make the drive to a concert.
99. My favorite drinks are: vodka cranberry, malibu and pineapple or amaretto sours.
100. I'm meant to live in Boston.
background ambiance - Ryan Montbleau, "Variety"
Saw similar lists pop up on several blogs lately, so I thought I'd give it a shot here. I haven't thought about some of these things in ages. Anyway. 100 Facts.
1. I spent a week as a guest artist at the John F. Kennedy Center for Performing Arts - twice - during college.
2. During one of those weeks, I heard Christine Baranski singing in the next rehearsal room over.
3. I spent a year working on The Hill. I know an ungodly amount of information about the Capitol.
4. Anything tastes better with either ketchup or salsa.
5. I have a weakness for James Dean - and have demonstrated a weakness in the past for those who look like him.
6. I think James Cagney was best young and in black and white.
7. My parents moved us to Vermont when I was five so they could own and run a country store.
8. I was voted "Most Musical" in my high school class.
9. I wore a tiara to my last day of high school.
10. I played college softball. For one year.
11. I was editor of my college newspaper.
12. I met Sydney Pollack and George Plimpton.
13. I've never been a Howard Dean fan.
14. But I've been a longtime Howie Day fan.
15. I interviewed John Mayer and Glenn Phillips about a year and a half before Mayer became a superstar.
16. Mayer played "Babylon" for me during soundcheck.
17. My all-time favorite movies are "Good Morning Vietnam" and "The Lion in Winter."
18. I have a crush on Zach Braff.
19. I organized a benefit concert.
20. I'm determined to see what all the hype is about in San Diego.
21. I don't care who the hell wrote Shakespeare's works, I'm just happy I can read them.
22. My love of Shakespeare was prompted by a "Boy Meets World" episode.
23. I wanted to be an archaeologist when I was young.
24. My first theatrical experience was as an assistant stage manager sophomore year of college.
25. I haven't been treated at a hospital since birth.
26. I have a fabulous, punk, vegan, younger, Bostonian brother.
27. My first real concert was New Kids on the Block. My second, too. My third was Aerosmith.
28. I went to two proms.
29. I've always been a night person.
30. I can't stand the taste of beer.
31. I love to fly.
32. I love to drive.
33. I stare at skylines until they fade away.
34. I thought about being a political science minor.
35. I thought about being a philosophy minor.
36. I wound up a drama minor.
37. Fenway Park is one of my favorite places in the world.
38. I can roll my r's.
39. I danced at an 80s-themed event next to the woman who played the eldest Cosby daughter on television.
40. I heard Daphne Rubin Vega (the original Mimi from "Rent") sing twice and said hi to her at a pub.
41. I was supposed to be born in early- to mid-October.
42. I waited until early November. My mother wasn't amused.
43. I'm ticklish beyond belief.
44. I don't like my laugh.
45. I love to sing harmony.
46. My softball team won the state championship senior year of high school.
47. I graduated high school in a class of 33.
48. I'm addicted to lip gloss/lip balm/lipstick.
49. I started a homemade blog before I knew what blogs were.
50. I never met my mother's father or my father's mother.
51. I looked exactly like another girl in my class in first and second grades.
52. I left Woodstock '99 before the riots
53. I'm two degrees away from Kevin Spacey.
54. The Doors were one of the greatest bands of all time.
55. At a Howie Day/Pat McGee Band show in 2000, I met Jesse Metcalfe, who was then Miguel on "Passions." Now he's John on "Desperate Housewives." He was even more attractive in person.
56. I took satellite AP classes in high school.
57. My least favorite class ever taken was Astronomy.
58. I hate the cold, but love New England.
59. I've never been in a photo booth.
60. I'm half Irish, and part English, Italian and French Canadian.
61. I took German for a language.
62. I was "God" for a semester (stage manager for "A Midsummer Night's Dream").
63. I've won awards for arts criticism.
64. I read an absurd number of Sweet Valley High books growing up. I wanted to be Elizabeth Wakefield.
65. I am startled easily.
66. I hate the taste of vinegar, mustard or mayonnaise.
67. I hate fish - cooked, raw, whatever.
68. I prefer small club concerts to full-blown large affairs.
69. I saw Sharon, Lois, Braham & Elephant when I was younger.
70. I loved the Boston Garden.
71. I attended the Red Sox victory parade.
72. I can't curl my tongue.
73. I took a class called "Literary Seductions."
74. Coffee is lifeblood.
75. I always prefer acoustic.
76. I've reclaimed my love of the color pink and 80s music.
77. I love photography, even if I wuss out and use digital.
78. I adore old theaters.
79. I chatted extensively with an actor from "Office Space."
80. I interviewed Lee Blessing.
81. I have an intellectual crush on Bradley Whitford.
82. I can't make rice. I just can't do it.
83. I microwave like you wouldn't believe.
84. Favorite compliment: "You look just like Donna from "The West Wing."
85. I performed in a murder mystery.
86. I was a member of a college improv troupe.
87. I cried the first time I heard "Gold Dust" live at a Tori show.
88. I still think Chipotle is the most addictive food ever.
89. I have shaky camera hands.
90. I love the ocean.
91. Sunrises are good, sunsets are better.
92. Anything sounds better with a British accent. Even if the accent is fake.
93. I can't drive a stick shift.
94. I read Thomas Hardy's "Jude the Obscure" online - in one sitting - during a last-ditch attempt to better my odds for the AP English exam.
95. I spent a semester DJing on our campus station.
96. People tell me I look like a Becky.
97. I went by Tori briefly freshman year of college.
98. I'll almost always make the drive to a concert.
99. My favorite drinks are: vodka cranberry, malibu and pineapple or amaretto sours.
100. I'm meant to live in Boston.
It happens.
status check - Bored. Tired.
background ambiance - Ryan Montbleau, "Stretch"
Mmm. Bored. Tired. Sleepy.
One of those days you have to just get through. Part of one of those weeks you have to just get through.
As I walked up Church Street this afternoon (part of a much-needed but quite ineffective coffee break), I was struck by the focused tunnel-vision with which I was traveling. Just get to where I need to go. Get what I need. Turn around. Retrace steps to complete cyclical journey.
I had an urge to do something completely different, something I hadn't done before. Unfortunately, I was on the clock, which meant it wasn't feasible.
I'll be enjoying the company of visitors this weekend. But next weekend? I'm up for an adventure. Perhaps Boston? If so, without the usual haunts - I'd want to see the city from a different angle. Maybe a fresh perspective would do me some good.
background ambiance - Ryan Montbleau, "Stretch"
Mmm. Bored. Tired. Sleepy.
One of those days you have to just get through. Part of one of those weeks you have to just get through.
As I walked up Church Street this afternoon (part of a much-needed but quite ineffective coffee break), I was struck by the focused tunnel-vision with which I was traveling. Just get to where I need to go. Get what I need. Turn around. Retrace steps to complete cyclical journey.
I had an urge to do something completely different, something I hadn't done before. Unfortunately, I was on the clock, which meant it wasn't feasible.
I'll be enjoying the company of visitors this weekend. But next weekend? I'm up for an adventure. Perhaps Boston? If so, without the usual haunts - I'd want to see the city from a different angle. Maybe a fresh perspective would do me some good.
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