Spotted at the 40th Street trolley depot.
Archives for October 2004
As he ascended from the subway, his hat flapped.
The fishes were the only painting that didn’t change at Cafe RX since the last time we ate there. We were waited on by Scary Spice, who is our favorite; she likes us too, but probably only because we tip 25% on dinner.
Sometimes after five we get a little bit punchy.
One lonely cloud.
Via my (now-daily) addiction Electoral-Vote.com, here’s an excellent article about the so-called “incumbent rule” and why Bush might not be doing as well as the media would have you and I believe. The “media narrative” definitely proffers a good deal of “Bush will carry it” propaganda, but honestly I think it’s just in respect and deferrence to an incumbent. I wish I could remember the poll coverage from Bush Sr.’s loss to Clinton to confirm this claim.
Just a reminder: vote, or stop talking to me. Seriously. Forever. I don’t care who you vote for, or if you think the electoral college is stupid, or if you are trying achieve the zen state of existence that is Reality Bites. Vote, or shut the fuck up.
About half of my department is just now leaving to see the Kerry/Bush/Bon Jovi rally in Love Park, though it is reportedly already packed solid. It’s strange to feel the crackle of political energy in the workplace; the majority of my co-workers are liberals, but elevator conversation ranges from talk of the rally to chats about the infallibility of Bush. As one of the youngest employees in the building, I wisely keep my mouth shut – as strongly as I believe in my politics, I will be the last one to bring them up in an elevator with corporate suits flanking me.
And, while we’re rounding up links, Ashlee’s Simpson’s lip-synch gaffe is perhaps the funniest moment I’ve seen on SNL in over a decade. I won’t ruin the fun for you; see it here. I really wanted to believe that the junior Simpson actual had the musical chops her album represents, but after this debacle I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that she didn’t have a hand in writing as much of her album as she’d have us believe. I look forward to the post-event spin on this one, considering the band and computer failure have already been blamed.
Who are we kidding, I wouldn’t have been surprised to hear about that in the first place. Somewhere Avril is giggling. Also, netted from that MeFi thread, Kaki King’s new video. Watching her play melts my music synapses.Take a look.
For those of you who are slightly new to this whole shebang, you should know that Trio has effectively become my get-out-of-blog free card. How it works is, basically, I lay my artistic soul bare for you in a 10-12 minute concert that, despite its sound of carefree ease, involves hours of sweat, profanity, and occasional blood to produce. Flush from my artistic efforts an enamored with my new tuneage, I typically let Trio sit at the top of the page for a week (or more) so that my barely-existant fanbase has no trouble locating and clicking upon the special feature repeatedly to satiate their listening desires.
In related news, I’m having trouble writing about anything lately, because I don’t know what to write about. I am happy. I am sedate. I am routine. These are the makings of a dull, repetetive folk record, not my next rock opus.
Last week I finished my book of lyrics.
I feel just as odd reading that sentence as I did shutting the book last week. The book, my book, that slim grey volume I bought my first week of college, and furiously jotted into that week after I had my first drink, is finally finished. It’s over. Done. Complete.
What’s funny is that I didn’t even know it was full. I knew I had about a dozen blank pages left, and I had been scribbling songs out elsewhere, on other pads, so as not to put any irrelevant junk-lyrics in my book. When I finally piled all of my scribblings up for transcription I realized I had more than enough to complete the book. Enough, in fact, to make a decent start on a new book.
Not only is it full, but the last song that would fit was “A Little Bit,” the (bouncy, self-depricatingly optimistic) song I wrote the day before I moved out of my college apartment – the perfect bookend to “Crashing,” the (plodding, drearily pessimistic) song I wrote after my first college party.
Paging back through favorite songs and discarded lyrics, I realized that I can’t really claim that all my good work came from conflict or tension. “A Little Bit” came from an almost perfect zen, “So Hard” came from a poetic IM conversation, and “Punk” came from out of nowhere. Lately I have mistaken a reluctance to write something for an inability to write anything, but maybe it’s for the best – I have songs I’ve never really finished, or never really learned – why am I in such a rush to add any more?
Anyhow, I need to decide what my new book (my third) will be, so I can move on with my life and writing.
I drew an org-chart while we waited for the check; Peter Mulvey was outstanding.