So fucking much to blog. Might happen, might not. I will say this, though.
Confidential to the sweet young things backstage: Tom Waits? NOT STEAMPUNK.
He has never: 1) worn stripey tights, 2) sung about being an Airship Captain, or 3) hot glued miscellaneous watch parts and chicken bones to a bowler hat.
I am hoping everything will subside tomorrow, everyone will change their freaking internet avatars from flags and towers and crying eagles back to .gifs of dumb shit. I am hoping all of the "never forget" billboards outside of businesses will come down and everything gets back to normal. It all smacks not of patriotism but of maudlin sycophancy;
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Jon's birthday party seems to have gone off swimmingly. We worked our asses off over the last two weeks (and that certainly was made more pleasant with the calf muscle strain), got most of the house set up and unpacked and clean. There are a few pockets of boxes, and my studio is still a wreck (*anxiety*) but the rest of the place looks pretty
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I've been reluctant to post to LJ, because I don't want to be all "Hey, LJ, I hurt myself again," but I did, and this Journal has been an incredible help in the past when I've needed to document when shit happened, so, here I am.