I've developed a somewhat unhealthy addiction to the tall cans of Arizona Peach Iced Tea. The weird thing is, they're not even that great. And yet, I'm addicted.
So as I sit here sipping on my mediocre iced tea, devouring a bar of dark chocolate, I realize I am basically beginning my descent into the deep, dark pool of gluttony.
Progress report on the Ann Coulter book: I'm trying. I'm really trying to get through it. But it's such a pain in the ass; it's just page after page of rambling rants that are so...contrived. She's certainly not funny, and what's worse, she's not even as scathing as I expected her to be; there are long stretches of time when I'm actually bored reading her shit. I thought I'd be experiencing fury and rage, not boredom! I get that she's trying to pull off the "Look! I'm so sarcastic and smart and umm....hot!" bit, but it just comes off as "Look! I'm trying SO HARD!!!!" What's more, her arguments don't make any sense. But anyway, I'm still going to try and finish it. I was going to save Al Franken's "Lies" for after I finished the Coulter, but I got bored with the Coulter so quickly that I just had to start it.
Here, I was going to write about this idea of escapism tying into my life that had been on my mind since last night, but it would probably come out sounding like utter pretentious bullshit, and I don't need to sound like Ann Coulter. So I'll save us all some trouble and shut up.
I've lost all creative energy - I know I mentioned this before, but now it's getting to a point where I'm beginning to feel panicky. I haven't been writing music, I haven't been writing in general, and I just have absolutely no inspiration or drive. I've tried, God knows I've gone to Kimmel and just sat in the piano rooms trying to make things work, but I've gotten absolutely nothing. Usually I'm fairly good at motivating myself to at least start typing or writing, even if it's bullshit, to just get some ideas flowing, but I don't even have the drive to do that. What the fuck. WHAT THE FUCK.
Anyway, this is turning out to be a rather pointless entry so I'll just end it here.
Ugh, note to self: Avoid writing in blog when PMS-ing.
Remember how I was being a worrywartfart about my visa? Well, miraculously, I was not turned away for missing one document or another; in fact, the whole process was neither as intimidating nor as hostile as I imagined it to be, and I officially have a visa! Hoorah!
And other than that, my life is boring as all hell (as usual). Thank god for Justine. That's all I have to say.
In other (boring) news, I've gotten sucked into Sex and the City again. I mean, this marathon is bound to happen at least once a year, usually around this time, when I have nothing but idle time on my hands. Maybe I should get the rest of the seasons on DVD and bring them abroad with me - for those times when I need to see the city in all its cosmopolitan-manohlo-sunday brunch-froufrou girly glory. Yeah yeah, it satisfies my superficial needs - any tri-state area girl can say that; but I do genuinely enjoy the show for more than its costumes and locations. And that's me trying not to sound like the typical SATC fanatic (and more or less failing). Sigh.
Change of topic: my little yellow umbrella. As we all know, the weather has been a little less than great lately. And walking around the city, it's a sea of depressing black umbrella-clad New Yorkers (with the exception of Mike and his clear umbrella. But that's Mike.) And I, my friends, was one of these depressing black umbrella-clad pedestrians up until a few days ago. I was trudging through the rain under my generic umbrella, feeling sweaty and sticky from the humidity and generally just being ho-hum, when I happened upon a little store that had in the window cute, colorful umbrellas. Sure, these stores are a dime a dozen, but for some reason I stopped, and went inside. A few minutes later, I walked out with a new umbrella, having thrown my old ugly one inside my ginormous carpet bag. I swooooshed open the yellow umbrella, and LO AND BEHOLD, everything changed. I had somehow traveled through a worm-hole to CandyLand. Okay maybe not. But suddenly I felt like I was under a little patch of sunlight, despite everything else around me being grey and gloomy - it made me infinitely more chipper. One umbrella! And so I skipped about the city in the rain feeling infinitely chipper and lived happily ever after.
I saw Jill for lunch today, and as we walked to the restaurant (in the rain, of course), she agreed that life did seem a little better under my little yellow umbrella.
The End.
P.S - I just discovered that a friend of mine is majoring in archaeology, and can also read hieroglyphs. How SWEEEEEEET is that.
I realized this after attending a benefit concert for Arthur Lee of Love - aka a MARATHON - last night with Caroline. It was over five hours of sitting in Beacon Theatre with 50+ year olds smoking pot and putting us young'uns to shame while they relived their crazy Woodstock days as best they could (although some were falling asleep after 11 pm). And who capped it off? That's right - Robert Plant. Who, by the way, still kicks mucho ass (even though it was a little weird when he screamed "SUCK IT!" in the middle of a song). I mean the whole concert was in-fucking-credible. The marathon bill included Ryan Adams & The Cardinals, Nils Lofgren, Ian Hunter, Yo La Tengo, and a random cameo by Gavin DeGraw who did a great cover of Sam Cooke's "A Change Is Gonna Come."
So naturally, I downloaded some of my favorites from last night, and I have to say, I'm disappointed. They seem so lackluster coming out of my mediocre speakers. And sure, I could try cranking up the volume as high as I can to get that "concert" effect, but I doubt that would do anything. There was just something about the energy on the stage, watching these artists who have only gotten better with age - they were seriously rocking out like, I can't even explain. Just fantastic having that extra visual dimension added to sound - I'd nearly forgotten why I love concerts so much, it had been so long. Definitely a memorable experience, or as Caroline calls it, "something to tell the grandkids."
Also, reminded me of what real musicians are, and the importance of live music. I really can't respect "artists" who can't perform live; I don't care if you're f-ing Madonna - she can gyrate and lip-sync as much as she wants, but what the fuck kind of talent does she have? Other than being provocative by burning crosses and wearing a cone-bra. Not impressed. On the other hand, watching a collective band totally sync-ed and just going wild - gives me shivers, just amazing.
Anyway I can't keep my train of thought going any longer - last night was a long one (albeit fun and unforgettable), had breakfast at Bubby's avec Caroline, trudged uptown to babysit, had lunch at Lemongrass (so gooooooooood), ran downtown to copy paperwork and print a few things, went to Mike's for a "BBQ", and then trudged home all the way back to Jersey. I'm tuckered out, to say the least, I just needed to come back to my own bed and comfort zone before heading out again tomorrow.
I think a few episodes of "Sex and the City" would do me some good. Or at least ease me to sleep.
As you can tell from my newly added sidebar section titled "Currently Reading," I've recently picked up Al Franken's "The Truth (with jokes)." (And yes, I'm going to put a cap on the number of sidebar sections added onto my blog before things get out of control and you start seeing "Currently Thinking" and "Currently Eating" sections) Anyway, I haven't been able to put the book down. It's a laugh a minute, which I'm sure I would get out of reading something by Ann Coulter as well, although in that case it might be more of a dry-heave-a-minute type of deal. But really, I think I may bite the bullet and try to read an Ann Coulter book after I finish this, and compare my blue and red notes. In all honesty though, even though I admit I get a kick out of shanking conservatives (figuratively) whenever I can, and secretly dreaming of the day I get to kick Bill O'Reilly in the shins (even if he's 5 ft. taller than I am) or pop a cap in Karl Rove's unsuspecting ass, this whole partisan war thats been escalating for the past however many years (albeit exponentially and intentionally during the current Bush administration's reign of terror) is getting to be completely ridiculous. Liberals and conservatives alike seem to have dramatically regressed into an immature group of kids on the playground farting on each other, not realizing that they're stinking up the whole goddamn place. And this is why Barack Obama is the way of the future. He's the one standing in the middle of the chaos with a gas mask on, saying, "Can't we all just get along?" Okay fine, we all know no politican is that naively optimistic, but at least he's not joining in the farting. Which is enough for me.
Anyway, Franken comes up with a mock negative ad that focuses on the gay marriage controversy, much in the spirit of the Bush-Cheney 2004 campaign, which I thought was absolutely brilliant in more ways that one. And so I thought I'd share it with you:
George W. Bush wants to amend our Constitution to make it illegal for gays to marry. But evidently, he has no problem with terrorists getting married. Even now, terrorist couples are plotting to sanctify their love for each other in holy matrimony - and then blow up the Holland Tunnel. Call George W. Bush. Tell him that America can't afford a president who is soft on terrorist marriage. Because unlike gays...terrorists can breed. [Paid for by the Committee to Distract You from Real Issues.]
Aint it the truth.
On a final note to what turned out to be a more political entry than I intended it to be, here's a Reagan-Bush campaign ad from '84 that had me in stitches when it was shown in my American Politics class, and when I found it again on YouTube the other day: "There's A Bear In The Woods"
See? Not all of politics is boring and dry; there are those rare moments of hilarity such as this one (well, not as rare these days with the uber-moron in office) when one laughs at the farce-ness of it all, but then pauses for a minute to wonder in all seriousness, "And I live in the U.S because....?"
Oh, and before I go, has anyone else seen the billboard somewhere in Midtown (I think the 50's and Broadway) that simply says, "my boogers itch"? Anyone? Because literally, that's all it says. No product or brand logo, name of a movie or TV show...at least not from where I could see. Either I'm missing something (which is probably the case) or.......the apocalypse is now. Either way, funny.
I would just like to start this post off by commenting on the influx of friendly bus and train conductors I've had the pleasure of encountering recently. A few weeks ago, I was on the 72nd crosstown bus and well, and first of all, it was a free ride because the machine was broken, but secondly the driver was insanely nice and at every stop would say "have a wonderful weekend" over the intercom, which is a small thing but so great. And today on the train the conductor was a.) coherent, which is a miracle in itself because usually I can't understand a thing they're saying over the crackly intercom and b.) referred to the train as "Choo-Choo Charlie." Is this the beginning of a revolution? I hope so.
While on the Choo-Choo Charlie train today, I was reading an Elle magazine article on John Mayer that made me reconsider my status as a fan turned anti-fan. Back when Mayer was relatively unknown - at least, before "No Such Thing" became the most overplayed song on the radio that one summer - I was a big fan of his. He had a tiny blurb in Rolling Stone that led me to looking him up and listening to some of his stuff. Yeah, he was hot, but I think the fact that he could actually play/write was what attracted me to him. Also, given the boy-band craze going on at the time, he had a different sound. More genuine and laid-back, less artificially produced. Anyway, one thing led to another, he got famous, teeny-boppers started flocking to him screaming they wanted to have his babies, I marked him as a dead man/sellout and walked away. Plus the second album wasn't anything new. Then I heard that he teamed up with Pino Palladino and Steve Jordan to play some blues, which was interesting because (being a crazy fan at one point) I remember reading about the blues having a huge influence on his life, etc. So completely changing gears after reaching a certain level of success being a teen idol deserves some kudos. Then today I read this article in which he's sounding like his semi-jackass self, but frank and without the bigger than life ego. Basically, defending the point that he's "not just a white guy singing sappy love songs." I don't know, I guess I appreciate it when people are self-aware to the point where they can articulate how commercialism can totally warp the original concept of a song like "Your Body Is A Wonderland," making it sound like a manipulative, skeeze-ball of a piece. Anyway, he has a new album coming out in a few months. We'll see. Well-written article, though.
But I bought the Elle magazine not even knowing there would be a John Mayer article in it; instead, I got it because I saw that Hilary Duff was on the cover under "Last Girl Standing: Why Hilary Duff Matters." I guess I was curious to see if the newly emaciated Hilary had developed a personality to go alongside her eating disorder. Well, curiousity killed the cat, and my $3.50. What I learned from the article: Hilary Duff doesn't matter. Not one bit. The End.
What's with the line-up at Bonnaroo this year? I'll use a simiply analogy (WHAT WHAT, SAT'S!) to illustrate: Bonnaroo 2005: Allman Brothers Bonnaroo 2006: Radiohead W-T-F?
Anyway, moving on. Last week, the piano movers came to take my piano away. We sold it, in anticipation of selling the house and moving and not having to deal with moving the baby grand AGAIN, and I think everyone was expecting me to be a mess the day they took it away, given that I've basically grown up with it. I was fine, didn't bat an eyelash. I keep telling myself I'll buy a new piano when I get my own place. A few days have gone by, and its absence is slowly starting to chip away at me. Joni Mitchell seriously knew what she was talking about with "Don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you've got till it's gone." The sheer fact that it's simply not THERE anymore is what's bugging me. The fact that I can't just amble over, sit down, and play around whenever I feel like it. I mean essentially, that's exactly how I came to write my first song, just sitting around and playing random songs and chords until something hit. How many hours of my life did I spend sitting on that piano bench? I guess I'm realizing that I can't fight missing what had become a habit, a stable routine and thing in my life. Everything else in my life has shifted and changed, but that piano was always there. Same sound, same melodies, same muscle memory in my fingers. And now, I don't even have the option of just sitting there on the bench, either staring at the keys or out the window. Now, if I want to play the piano, I have to - what, go all the way into the city and to Kimmel to get a fucking rehearsal room? Because that's the next best option to have any sort of privacy when I'm playing. Goddamn me and my fucking sentimentality. It's a goddamn piano. A piano I've had for 14 years, but just a piano nonetheless. I keep telling myself that. But then why do I feel like so much creative energy has been drained from me? I haven't been writing, I've just been thinking about writing, and that's not good enough. Mmmmm but I did keep the spare key to the piano as a memento; the other copy went to the new owner.
Ah, that's enough depressing myself. I'll write about the fun times from last night instead. Mike's parents (or just mom) made a deeeelicious dinner for us ("us" being Mike, Kyle, Elena, Justine, and myself), which included some fantastic pre-dinner punch, a Rod Stewart CD to croon all throughout dinner, Mike's dad telling the AOL telemarketer on the phone that they should arrange a time to go bowling, and some cheesecake and coffee afterwards. Jenna met up with us afterwards for the post-dinner festivities: kaaaaraoke! We headed over Duet Karaoke on 49th with our spiked beverages. I have to say, Duet Karaoke has always served me well, all throughout high school (when Teri and I would go in the afternoon, just the two of us. Because we were karaoke fanatic losers back then. And still are.) and even now. Who knew they would have the super depressing/suicidal thought inducing Gilbert O'Sullivan song?! Although it was supremely disappointing that they did NOT have Kelly Clarkson "Since You've Been Gone," which is the uber-karaoke song if I've ever heard one. Nonetheless, we six of us karaoked HARD for 3 hours nonstop. I think we covered everything there was to cover, including the classics (Spice Girls, Lisa Loeb, Aaliyah) to Mike's "Goldfinger" solo (which was gold. No pun intended.) However, I think the award for best karaoke moment goes to Aerosmith's "I Don't Want To Miss A Thing" which we ROCKEEEEEEEEDDDDD. Led Zeppelin and "Hollaback Girl" were pretty hardcore, too. It was a good time.
Then this morning, I called Mike and when he picked up I just croaked "Cooooofffeeeeeee." Which he agreed to, so we had breakfast at Chez Laurence (which is not as french as one would imagine it to be), during which he told me I was a bro and not a ho, which I suppose I can only take as a compliment. And then we wandered through a street fair and went browsing stores.
And now I'm hungry again. Ugh.
Oh, one last thing: It has come to my attention that I've been writing longer entries recently. It hasn't really been a conscious effort - I've just taken to rambling to my heart's content. Well, here's why (yes, I believe there's a deeply rooted reason): I think a lot. Excessively, even. You probably know my spaced-out look; yes, I may look slightly retarded, but that's just the effect of the wheels turning in my head. But most of the time, I don't really articulate what I'm thinking when I'm around others. Maybe it has to do with the fact that I grew up extremely shy; I've outgrown my muteness (if that's a word), but I'm still very much the listener than a talker. Maybe I surround myself with bigger personalities so that I can be in my element, just listening and making the occasional awkward/funny remark. But think about it - when was the last time you had a real, in-depth, intellectual conversation with me? The answer is most likely "Hm. Can't remember." or "Ummm........well there was that one time when you were drunk..." Well the fact of the matter is, I still don't like attracting that much attention to myself (except when I'm performing, strangely enough.) I think what triggered this whole epiphany was when I was in Central Park the other day with Julia. Just the two of us, talking at length about the UN, Africa, politics in general, movies, etc. - I remember thinking, "Shit, I can't remember the last time I've talked this much about politics." I mean it's probably because I have a tendency to distance myself from scary politics majors at NYU (and in general), and the fact that Julia is one of my closest friends, but still. It made me realize I wasn't providing myself with any sort of outlet to just....talk. So granted, the songwriting explains a lot; it's a canvas/outlet with which I'm comfortable expressing myself freely, etc. This little online blog thing, I realize, is just another outlet where I can write whatever trivial thoughts are running through my head at length (e.g. my multiple paragraphs in a previous entry pertaining to a single restaurant), and you can choose to either read it, or click and exit. But I can just get my thoughts out there without being interrupted, which is nice.
So, if you are someone who actually takes the time to read all of my nonsense, thank you.
P.S - I didnt dream about Brian Greene last night.
So I had a pseudo-intellectual dream last night. I mean usually I can't even remember my dreams, let alone remember being coherent in them. But I distinctly remember talking to someone about Nietzsche and "On the Geneology of Morality," which is so random and bizarre. Then I woke up, facing my bookshelf, and staring me in the face is "On the Geneology of Morality." So the most logical question that comes to mind is:
Are my books talking to me in my sleep? Maybe reading themselves out loud? In a faux British accent, as I so love to do whenever I myself am reading out loud?
Maybe tonight I'll dream about Brian Greene's "The Fabric of the Cosmos." (Fat chance.)
But now that we're on the topic of my bookshelf - or at least, now that I'm glancing at it sitting several feet away from my laptop - something that Elena said the other night when she was over comes to mind. I have a really funky assortment of reading material. That's not verbatim - she said something a little more normal, but it basically translates to the same thing. I mean, there's no consistency in what I read, you know? I'm not philosophy-heavy or chick lit-heavy or mystery-heavy. Here's an example: (Since I've alphabetized my mini bookshelf, it makes things all the more interesting.) Cornel West "Democracy Matters" sits next to "The Devil Wears Prada" which sits under Andrew Marvell's "Complete Poetry," Pushkin, "The Nanny Diaries," and Nietzsche, all of which sit under a travel guide to Paris, Allen Ginsberg, Philip Gourevitch and Brian Greene; these books then sit under a Miles Davis autobiography, Dave Eggers, Colette, etc. But I guess my random funky assortment is rather fitting, since I'm kind of a random person anyway. Come to think of it, a picture of my little bookshelf is really worth a thousand words, since it says more about me than I could ever explain. And also, since all the books on it are the chosen ones, i.e. the ones that really mean something to me, my little bookshelf is like.....for lack of a non-kitschy saying, a window to my soul. Ugh, I promise to never use that phrase again, I'm breaking out in hives from being so cheesy.
Anyway, the point of this story is to say that everyone should have a little bookshelf of books that they love. That way everyone could just glance at everyone else's bookshelves and know the other person in less than 10 seconds. And we could just exterminate the generic "So have you read any good books recently?" part of small talk. Killing two birds with one stone.
On another note, I've been considering the idea of taking up Taekwondo again.
On another note, watched Dave Chappelle's Block Party and was inspired not only by the performances (which were fucking amazing) but by the sense of community between the performers - it's like a throwback to the 50's when Davis, Dizzy, Bird, and all of the other heavyhitters & yet-to-be heavyhitters were just jamming and working off of each other, absorbing each other. Musical community. Seemed like such an archaic notion until I watched this dvd. And also, Mos Def: Yeeeeeeow.
Cari called me the other day, allllllll the way from Texas. We talked about our road trip which is going down next May. I'm so exciiiited. So far the plan is to fly out to California, start from San Fransisco, make a pit stop in Portland and stay at Liz's place, stop at Seattle, then drive up through Canada and into Alaska until we get to my place. I figure, since I'm not the Cancun/SPRING BREAAAAAK!!!!!/Tijuana type, a roadtrip is the next "college" thing to do. And I'm genuinely excited to for it. Which probably explains why we're planning a year in advance.
So some Spence seniors used me and "Silent Film" as the subject of their music video for their Senior Seminar class. I saw the final outcome yesterday. Needless to say, it was somewhat (if not appallingly) embarrassing. Which is fine, since I wasn't expecting a masterpiece from three third-term seniors; I'm surprised it even came out as well as it did. However, I'm not excited that it was shown to the general Spence public along with the other three final projects. The number of sympathy/pity looks that I got yesterday as I walked through the building kept rising...to the point where I wanted to hide my face in shame. But I did get a lot of people saying they loved the song, regardless of the video. Which is all that really matters. Such is life. And the joke that is my "music career." Hey, at least there's some fantastic blackmail material out there now, right? Right??
If anyone needs any suggestions for restaurants, I'm your (wo)man. I recently bought a little "Do It Yourself Restaurant Guide" book (mostly for its adorable green diner tab cover) which on each page has a little layout for the name of the restaurant, how pricey, overall rating, what to get/not to get, etc. I love it. My own personal Zagat. I guess I started thinking about restaurants just now because today, I finally got to revisit an old favorite of mine which I had completely forgotten about. The Metropolitan Restaurant (1st and 52nd) was a place I used to frequent during my internship at the UN a few summers ago, and then forgot about for the next few years. Then while I was filling in my restaurant book I suddenly remembered the place and the fact that they had great sandwiches and fries but could NOT for the life of me remember the name - only that it started with an 'M'. So I did a Google search for restaurants in East 50's and found a place called Madison Restaurant on 53rd and 1st and figured that had to be it. I proposed to Caroline that we meet there for dinner on Monday, and that evening she happened to get there earlier, so found a table and sat down. When I got to the corner I realized that the cute place with the black awning and dangling lights did not say "Madison Restaurant" but "Metropolitan Restaurant." While muttering obsceneties to myself, I turn around, and see that Madison Restaurant is simply an average Manhattan DINER. But since Caroline had already sat down, we ended up eating there. Today, however, I did not make the same mistake. I met up with Naima for dinner and we walked all the way from Columbus Circle to 52nd and 1st so that I could finally, FINALLY eat and find peace. Which I did. Maybe not the finding peace bit, but I defnitely ate to the point of food coma.
Which leads me to the question: Why am I writing extensively about a restaurant at 3 am in the morning?
Frankly, I can't answer it. My sleep cycle is completely off balance - mostly due to my increasingly unhealthy habit of binging on movies. Tonight it was The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, and Margaret Cho: Assassin. I don't need to obsess over Wes Anderson any more than I already have/do, and Margaret Cho.....eh. The entire routine sounded like an excerpt from any two fairly radical and pseudo-informed college students engaging in political discourse. Kind of funny, but nothing that made me really laugh. I think I laughed harder when I was watching Manhattan Murder Mystery the other day. Gotta love the impressions of her mother though - she has the korean accent down like it's her business.
Finished Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test (life-changing.) and have begun Sometimes A Great Notion by Ken Kesey. So many books to read, huzzah. I've really taken to reading extensively on the train - I think because I spend so much goddamn time riding the trains each week...I mean, I think I read the majority of Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test in the subway, which is pretty bizarre, but fitting at the same time. I think tomorrow I will definitely do some writing. I was very inspired yesterday while coming home on the train and walking up the long tunnel out of the 175th train station into he GWB terminal, although I think that wave of inspiration mostly came from the fact that I was high..but hey, whatever works.
For most of the past year, I really thought I had fixed my compulsive buying disorder. Sure, I spent an excessive amount on food, but that seemed excusable. However, I am sad to announce that I have relapsed. I've justified my disorder by saying that I need summer clothes and dresses and sandals....but an LLBean Nautical Themed Tote Bag? (My excuse for that was that it would serve as an excellent carry-on for going to AK and Paris and whatever) And now the itch to buy a Lesportsac weekender bag as well. Maybe I'm experiencing a weird side-branch of compulsive buying disorder that's causing me to fixate on luggage? Who knows. More importantly, who cares.
Tomorrow, I am going to get up early (and by early, I mean before noon), perhaps run (depending on the weather), get coffee, read until my eyes dry up, write until I start feeling symptoms of tendonitis, and show some goodwill and sisterliness by helping the bro study for his geometry final. Or whatever final he needs help on. Yeah.
Today was one of those rare days when things were just going my way (for once). These days come once every blue moon in my otherwise ho-hum life, so I made sure to make the best of it.
1. I woke up early (!!!!!!), checked my mail, and some random stranger had emailed me from Bandspace.com wondering where my music could be purchased, which made me feel somewhat legit. Of course any legitimacy disappeared when I replied by saying I would basically have to just send a shitty, burned copy. With no artwork. But such is life. 2. Went into the city, was uber efficient about my Paris paperwork - photocopied everything, dropped off papers at the study abroad office 3. I dropped by good ol' Oren's to get an iced coffee, and got a free cappuccino instead, because I happened to walk in when the new trainee had just finished making a "practice" cappuccino. It was tasty - I see a great coffee-making future for this Chris character. 4. Went shopping and actually made decent purchases! Everythings been so blah recently, I always end up leaving the stores empty-handed, but not today, my friend. 5. Went to a nice dinner with family friends before the madre leaves tomorrow for AK
And last but not least: 6. I think I'm getting a digital SLR camera! Huzzzzzaaaah!
Okay so after writing it all out, maybe my day doesn't sound that spectacular. But it was super productive and efficient, which NEVVVVER HAPPENS. And plus, I get such a kick out of little things like a free iced cappuccino. So there.
+ Phoenix's new album, "It's Never Been Like That" + Jamie Lidell's new album, "Multiply" + Looking forward to Pirates 2, Clerks 2, Cars, Marie Antoinette + I finished a new piece, "Playground". It was originally written as a slow, mellow rainy day piece, but I also have a good-time version of it, which is just fun to play. + Compiling a list of summer reading, 12 books so far, 2 and a half down. If anyone has any suggestions, by all means let me know. +++++ Tom Wolfe's "The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test" - it's mind-blowing. My friend Julia passed me her copy, which is a concept that's really interesting, especially concerning this book for some reason - it's great seeing what someone else has underlined and reacted to in a book, almost like reading/probing their thoughts.
I have a lot more to say about the book, and about the mundane goings-on in my life, but I'm tuckered out right now, so maybe another time.
