Five layers (what, like an onion? A really good chocolate cake?)

There’s stuff I don’t talk about with anyone. Some of it is festering; some of it is just the froth and bubble inherent in having a brain; some of it is me stolidly processing events and patterns.  Some is preverbal.  Most isn’t – I try to put everything in words.

There’s stuff that only the people it happened in front of know.  It never gets written down.  It’s ‘Hopi art’ or a coloured sand mandala.

There’s stuff that only goes in a little hardback diary; I make an entry maybe once a month – more often when my love life, such as it mostly isn’t, gets more interesting.  I try to make it as much like Mary Astor’s diary as possible, you know, breathless and candid and o so girly…. although I have no George S Kaufman.  (Darn! he was quite the, uh, provider of exclusive, quality adult entertainment, or so Mary’s diary recounted).

There’s stuff I put in the locked on-line diary at livejournal, mostly stuff that’s bad and I want to remember the date it happened later.  Almost all of my entries are friends only.

Then, there’s this stuff.  There’s an inherent bias towards good news, because, after all, my mom reads this. There’s also a bias to not whine, although I do.  So consider this a virtual whine, because, by golly, I really feel like bitching right now, and what prevents me from doing it is knowing that in a week I’ll have completely forgotten what I was cheesed off about. That has been the overwhelming takeaway for me as a result of keeping an online diary for four years (yup, I started in April 2004 but lost everything prior to August of that year).  As bad as things may be, whining doesn’t help. Good news longs to be shared, and urges to whine should be entertained at a halberd’s distance. I consider whining and recounting ugly facts to be two separate things; it’s the absence of adjectives that denotes serious efforts not to whine. Also, I swear more when I’m whining.  Or ranting, which is whining spun into entertainment, at least as I care to practice it.

I light a candle for folks dealing with allergies; for the lonely; for the sick; for the hopelessly confused and socially awkward.  I light a candle for the unemployed who wish to work.

PS.  The World Series is actually very good baseball.  I was enjoying it immensely when I watched it last night.  It was the first time I actually got an idea of how a superb pitcher plays with the strike zone to mess with batters’ heads.

A special shout out to Mike McG, who opened a phone conversation with, “Hey, wordsmith!” and made my world a better place thereby.

A special shout out to Marc, who answered my email about visiting headquarters in France with a brief and charming email.  The upshot is I am welcome, but nobody is exactly sure WHERE to roll out the welcome mat, as apparently they are moving!  I would post notes about the integration but it might limit my future employment opportunities.

The Barque of Concord hits a rock

I guess I tried to explain to Jeff prior to moving in that I make a lot of noise when I am singing and writing songs and that it can get quite annoying.  His response was that he could wear headphones. Well, last night I was working on a tune and he told me to be quiet because what I was doing was annoying him. It was plenty annoying, but I had warned him.  I dunno.  I hadn’t worked on a tune or come up with anything new in yonks, and only being exposed to the brutal indifference of previous roommates and other relatives prevented me from curling into a fetal ball at his disapproval.  When I was living with Paul and the kids I’d get that annoying at least a couple of times a week – I guess Jeff is unaware of the extent he’s been spared my usual behaviour.  I have been unusually quiet.

tick

tick

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I will be looking for rehearsal space, I guess, and once I calm down, other possibilities. It’s too bad that it’s now officially too effing cold to play outdoors.

Keith came by and picked up his phone.  What a turkey I am!  I didn’t even know it had a camera in it.  Mine’s kinda like a little rubber brick and all it has is Mah Jong and Tetris and Bejeweled and Sudoku to while away the time.

Sad / amused / touched / and life goes on

Forgot about my mando lesson and wandered off and ate dinner at Paul and Keith’s instead.  In my defense, I’m stressed and not managing my pain very well.

To help myself relax, I watched this:  Cat vs. Printer.

Then I watched this, sent from my Ontie Jackie.

Then I told everybody on my facebook list that I don’t load applications.  Nunh unh.

Then I made breakfast for my brother.  Life goes on.

John Hiatt and Ann Coulter

John Hiatt
2004-08-03— Posted by: allegra

Just cleared the front door from the John Hiatt concert at the Vogue. That was one of the best concerts I have ever been to. When he fired up Ethylene and Riding with the King and Gone and Thunderbird it was like watching a man high on joy do what he most wanted in the whole world. Tremendous audience rapport and respect. Opening was an interesting singer songwriter named John Dee Graham from Austin TX – which is an amazing city for music and the arts these days. He sang a song in Spanish and a bunch of self written ditties and a king hell version of You Gotta Walk that Lonesome Valley which sent chills down my spine. I would have posted a pic from John’s website but the cunning webmaster has fixed it so you can’t copy stuff from the site.

John Hiatt played Icy Blue Heart, making Lexi’s wish come true from Saturday night. He had no set list. He said I’m 52 I am too old for a set list. He also said there are only two things you need to know about God. He exists, and he isn’t you. In attendance me, Paul, Lexi, Rob, Jacquie, Unca Barry and Keith. Neville bailed; meshuggas with seating.

enough sleep
2004-08-03— Posted by: allegra

Well, Pride Day went off reasonably well. I got a nasty sunburn on my neck and lightly crisped around my Anglo edges (both of my grandfathers were born in Angleterre after all and pappy is a redhead). Being in the parade is very different from seeing it.

Katie is being difficult at the moment. This difficulty can’t be talked about because it would be disrespectful, doncha know. At least she’s been sober. I suppose I shouldn’t complain. Arranged another trek to Night Market next Friday. Am attempting to assembler ma merde in an effort to make another cloak, this time for me.

I am very worried about Ann Coulter. I think the poor woman isn’t well; I long to feed her peach pie and tell her it’s going to be okay even if George Bush doesn’t win the election. I’m also sad because she doesn’t like hairy women, and I’m hairy and I can’t do much about it because my husband likes me that way and I read in the Bible that women are to be subject to the rule of their husbands. So even if I made a peach pie for her, you know, the church lady thing, she probably wouldn’t eat it.

So what I want to know is when I run across a difference of opinion between Ann Coulter and the revealed word of the Lord, should I play safe and do it Ann’s way? I mean, she’s a lot closer than God appears to be at the moment. She’s been on Nightline and God’s never so much as returned Larry King’s calls. (Note to infrequent readers. I DON’T HAVE CABLE. I’VE NEVER SEEN NIGHTLINE. I DON’T WATCH NETWORK TV. EVERYTHING I KNOW ABOUT THESE PEOPLE I LEARNED FROM THE INTERNET.) I must admit the image section of Ann Coulter’s website is one of the most unintentionally hilarious things I’ve ever seen, not that I’m encouraging you to look. You know every time I see her, I think of what my dear old pappy sometimes says when a good looking woman is brought to his attention; “She’s a nice enough looking girl but she looks underfed.” (Or words to that effect. The voice of tender concern for the health of the woman in question is what makes this opinion so remarkable – and you’ll have to forgive my father. He’s not very politically correct and does not understand the modern intricacies of the word girl, and how it can be used certain ways but not certain other ways).

Then I read Revelations and now I am exTREMEly worried, because I suspect that even if I do everything that I’m supposed to do to get into Heaven, or at least the Christian version of this idea, Heaven is going to be MUCH noisier than anticipated and while I have come across references to stopping up the ears I don’t see a specific reference to ear plugs in the revealed word of the Lord and I don’t think they’ll be issued once I get there, and I am still not sure whether I will have a physical or merely spiritual body; and thanks, I don’t WANT my gallbladder back if I am getting the other part of the “full” meal deal back, although I would groove on being 132 pounds again. WRT earplugs, I read Revelations and when it said and there was silence in heaven for the space of half an hour I thought (sacreligiously I own) it was about bloody time, with all the trumpets and clashing and lightning and people falling down. People fall down a LOT in Revelations, it got to the point I was suspecting that the spirit they were full of was overproof rum.

This next paragraph deleted, because I think I skidded off the pallet of discerning Biblical interpretation and I’m close to hell as it is. Believe me, it was funny.

I am in love with the Streets song Fit and You Know It. I’d be playing it right now but John hates it and he’s reading in the living room.