Dear Friends ( Read more... )

Someone left an old pair of sunglasses in the store. They are scratched, and massive enough so that I can easily put them over my real glasses ( Read more... )

Thor, Mikaela, $$$ and I drank mulled wine from two plastic coconut shells from an old yard sale. The moonlight gleamed in the eye of Mikaela's dog Franz-a living keepsake of her time in the Carpathian army, and the smell of the roasting boar meat almost entirely obscured the odor of cordite hanging heavy in the evening air ( Read more... )

I worked on editing an old Kohima concert that I'd found on my computer, and then Erin and I went to Liz and Andrew's to watch 49 UP. Afterwards, Erin and I returned home and hung out with Kaler. Erin smoked a cigarette on the balcony as a thunderstorm began, and Kaler and I each took an unlit cigarette and practiced having them dangle in a cool, ( Read more... )

My friend Thor arrived yesterday, after having taken a train from Santa Fe. "Taken" is perhaps innacurate-he leapt onto the roof of one of the soybean cars as the train slowed to go through the Highpass switchyard, and held on with white-knuckled, bloody palmed tenacity for the next 1600 miles ( Read more... )

When I still worked at Red Arrow, an actor used to come in and chat with me and Michael. He was from Boston, and introduced me to the phrase "wicked pisser," which is apparently used to describe something completely awesome ( Read more... )

The last night in Atlanta my family and I watched "The Pick of Destiny." Then I met Ana out at some warehouse where her band had been practicing. The warehouse seemed like it had been built to house the doings of a hip computer company, which had then surrendered the place to Atlanta punk bands when the tech bubble burst ( Read more... )

The graduation was very long, but perfectly fine, and even enjoyable at some parts. Paul Bianchi gassed on and on, but seemed to have cut down each speech by at least 20 seconds. The big rock number, which seems to be a graduation tradition, was "Chicago" by Sufjan Stevens. Adam Bernstein held it down on vibraphones, which was good because the kid ( Read more... )

The plane swooped down over pine forests embedded with subdivisions, man-made lakes, switchyards, and through a typical exhaust-tendril haze to land at Hartfield-Jackson. In the car back with my dad, I had a strange "There's no place like home" moment. I realized that I miss neighborhoods of kudzu-ridden bungalo-style houses, steep hills, cracked ( Read more... )

Andie taught me the words to Styx's "Renegade" this morning. And I forgot them. But it was still a fun opening ( Read more... )