I walked the distance from my apartment to my house today without ever actually getting to my house. This is not a short walk: it basically spans the entire width of Center City and cuts north and south into more residential neighborhoods. It was sunny when i finally made it out of Drexel’s campus after multiple interruptions. Two blocks from picking up my last paycheck from the coffee shop i thought i saw a spot of rain on the pavement. When i left the shop it was drizzling. When i left the first music store i had on my itinerary it was drizzling, and by the time i crossed over Market street it was pouring. The whole time i shopped on South Street it was miserable and i was damp. I regretted that i had decided to walk all the way there and prepared to catch the subway back to Drexel.
As i left the last store on my shopping excursion, the rain halted as if someone hit an off-switch. For the entirety of my walk to Market street to catch the El i felt as though the sun was a follow-spotlight that was tracking me from block to block; everything around me was lit up brighter than it was across the street or further down the block, and my shadow was thrown huge against the sidewalk. The sun actually seemed to be pointing itself right at me. I was glowing.
off-topics
Interestingly enough, i got the Patti Rothberg album the day i (sorta) started seeing Selina; it’s the day we use(d) as our anniversary. The fact that Freddie just emailed me today about something i wrote on that day is … ironic. Yeah, ironic… and i’m still a shithead.
Well, i was going to post a public apology, but then it got lost to a shuffle of copy and pastes, so here’s the condensed version.
I slagged the new Patti Rothberg record on the 11th of January. I didn’t like it. Since then, i’ve grown to like it, but it’s my stance that i don’t reccomend albums that i don’t like on my first listen to the general public (though i still have kind words for them to fans), so i never updated my review.
This week Mr. Freddie Katz, Patti’s current guitarist and songwriting pal, found my site via Google and read my scathing review and my indictment of him as the fault behind why i didn’t like the album. He emailed me and basically pegged me as the kind of fan who isn’t. It hurt. But, it was true, because what i said hurt him, and as a member of the general public i shouldn’t have that right.
Whoever knew someone mildly famous might randomly search down their name on my website? Certainly not i. Anyhow, i replied to Freddie and apologized, and informed him that i quite like the record now, which is true. I honestly would have rather heard Patti produce herself, or play every guitar on the record again, but she’s the artist and he claims the record met her artistic vision … which is enough for me.
Anyhow, my best wishes to Patti and Freddie in the future. I’ll still be listening. I dunno if either of them ever want to talk to me again, though. I think what this all proves is that i’m a shithead… yep. In case you hadn’t figured it out already.
If you’re at all up on the politics of Pyra & Blogger you should definitely go read the very witty interview Evan Williams (the only person currently behind Blogger) just did with a self-proclaimed genius named Biz Stone. It provides an easy history of Blogger, why it’s not quite viable, and what might happen to it in the future. Also, there are some robots and giant brains suspended in large tanks of preserving fluid. Plus, a genius!
If i post once more about all this relationship crap, someone ought to remind me to rename the blog “My life is like an open wound” or something apropos like that. While i’m sure watching me pick the scab off of my slowly healing heart once or thrice a day is very thrilling, it’s starting to make me feel like the lowest common denominator on the Blog foodchain (and eventually i think it might wind up leaving a scar). Of course, a lot of LCD things wind up being really popular. Wouldn’t it be funny if i wound up all popular and loved because of my romantic problems, when up until two months ago this whole log was about how my only romantic problem was a lack of a problem? Yeah… that’d be damn amusing.