Damnit, it’s just a sitcom. I am definitely not meant to cry during it.
by krisis
Personal
Hi. Announcing two upcoming field trips made possible by me not getting cast in Fiddler. Thank god.
#1 – Peter Mulvey, April 18th, @ The Point in Bryn Mawr.
#2 – GARBAGE, April 26th, @ The Electric Factory in Philly
I intend to attend both shows with as many people as i possible can bring with me. Any takers?
I don’t have enough time to turn all of these thoughts into what they want to be. I just ate breakfast in front of a one-two punch of Springer’s “Prostitutes Tell All” and Katie Couric ogling Janet Jackson’s abs on the post-Grammy fashion wrap-up. My brain is fried.
Last night was wickedly cold, and if i hadn’t noticed it on my walk down to campus or sprint to the train station, then i definitely noticed it when we wound up waiting a half an hour for the train home after the show My scarf wrapped all around my head in an attempt to retain warmth and Kat edging around to stand so i was between her and the wind, and both of us jumping up and down and trying to find the right key for us both to sing Pinkerton songs in.
I calmly explained my theory on opening acts as we sat at the back of the room and surveyed the crowd. First i place them on my musical spectrum, and then i speculate on if i could vanquish them in unarmed song-to-song combat. A good opening act doesn’t quite fit on my spectrum because they don’t have obvious influences; an amazing opening act convinces me that i couldn’t possibly walk up on stage, pick up a guitar, and please the crowd as much or more than s/he did.
Burning my tongue so badly on chai that i got stuck between try to scream, swallow, or just spit it out. Having to picture the taste of everything afterwards.
Charlie knowing my name and where i lived even though i hadn’t seen him for half a year and letting me off the shuttle at the corner of Walnut street where i knew that, despite the utterly desolate chill in the air, i was close to my door. How i let my scarf unravel from the knot it had formed around my neck until it was just being carried by the wind behind me. Me running down 44th street trailing my monochrome scarf behind me like a kite, giggling into the thin air and barely breathing.
Pillows taking up half my bed.
Yummers… linky love! Aside from the aforementioned Phlogger Karl Martino , there’s new-comer rockstar/dork who discovered (!) blogging when he found my site on a search for my guitar-idol Peter Mulvey. Meanwhile, GlacierGrrl upgraded to her own domain, straight out of Sheryl Crow (well, that’s how i learned what that word meant), and yet another newish blogger actually reads me semi-daily (always a shock, trust me). Not to mention Drexelites Kat and Jason, who offer me new perspectives on the things i see every day. And, finally, was this a compliment or an insult? I can’t quite tell.
Ack, i just got fiberglass insulation crappola in my eyes while cleaning. I am such a clutz.
I read a lot of blogs every day. That’s what my sidebar is for, really: to remind me of what i’m supposed to be reading on any given day. Lately i haven’t been doing such a good job, as i’ve obviously barely got my head screwed on tight enough to write convincing posts about my own life, so i’ve been trying to catch up today. It’s been hard… digesting four days of thoughts and feelings and words from each person and trying to discern exactly What it was that i missed. It’s harder with some than others — four days for some is an entire universe, for others just some scattered commentary. But, anyway, i miss all of them and i’m happy to be caught up on their lives.
Point being, i find Martha to be completely amazing and felt the overwhelming need to link her individually despite her omnipresence on my sidebar. She makes life sound as vivid as it is.