If you want orderly direction, this is not the place to be today.
Someday Café is playing Camper Van Beethoven this morning. Violins with breakfast. Interesting morning vibe.
First off, a reminder before I forget. My favorite of all the Daniels -- whose subway serenade this morning drove me to sacrifice a production meeting -- is playing at the Lizard Lounge Thursday night (8/22). The Lizard is a sultry den of rock with flattering lighting. It's a full band show, which is kickass and a rare occasion lately. Daniel Barrett Group goes on at 10:00. The lovely and talented Kristin Cifelli plays at 9:00. Bring a friend. I'll see you there.
Howie Day is also playing tomorrow (8/22) at 5:30 in Copley Sq. I will be kidnapping him post-show, and dragging him to my house where he will sing "Madrigals" repeatedly at my whim.
Further plans for tomorrow -- having a hard time staying in today -- include my Company Picnic at the beach, which I am unthrilled and anxious about. I am allergic to sunlight, plus there will be bugs, high school politics, and. . . I could go on and on but some of my coworkers read this site so I love you all.
Desperately in need of two hours of pure distraction, we went to see The Good Girl last night, which was interesting. Jennifer Anniston was actually good, as was the acting in general. I was surprised. The story was great, but I left feeling unresolved, mainly because the story was great. It was uncomfortable in that way where you want to scream out loud, "NO! Not that door!" Because you know what is obviously the right choice for that character and damned if they'll make that decision on their own.
It conjured up some weird feelings for me on several levels; one being the romantic idea of tossing everything to the wind and moving on an impulse, scrapping your life and starting brand new. I used to pine for that sort of situation, and I found it strange that there's little I would change about my life right now. For the first time ever I feel settled, like I don't have to scrap anything or run from anything. That's of course a satisfying place to be. But a little scary, nonetheless, being that my whole life I've identified myself as someone on the edge, ready to say fuck everything and explode and leave in a dramatic sweep of dark wings.
Last night after a day strangled with emotion and crying at my desk, I had an enormous amount of expendable energy and so I went for a run when I got home from the movie. I got the idea that if I kept going, the tension in my head would work itself out. I kept running and running. I broke some of my records. Dozens of cats, three different colored Minis, midnight gardens, front yard barbecues, domestic brawls, frat boys on the porch drinking Corona to Bob Marley, garbage night, four dogs that didn't know how to properly walk on a leash, cracked sidewalks, overgrown river path, all this running and still my head and heart burned -- burned worse than my lungs. I ran and ran and nothing moved.
Outside my house I saw a falling star flash across the sky. Haven't seen one of those since the meteor shower last November, lying on the side of the highway with Nathin in the frozen grass staring up at the heavens, purple and orange trailers zigzagging the sky.
Airy bright cool day. Not an office-with-no-windows-sensory-deprivation day. But here I go. Gotta pay the man for all the toys I've loved and lost. My newest ambition is to quit my job and work in a coffee shop and live like the starving artist I was meant to be. Enough of this comfortable salary and beefy benefits nonsense. Enough of this subsidized beverage and subway pass bullshit. Forget this "working from home" freedom. Pool table. Paid vacation. T-1 Internet access. Blogging on the clock.
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