Ornery

I’ve effectively fallen off the face of Diaryland.

It occurred to me that I never wrote about the Spoon show.

I’ve been keeping things to myself this week. I went to see Andrew Bird and had my heart broken by his ethereal, haunting beauty. I had my eardrums blown out and danced, grinning ear to ear, at the Postal Service show, just feet from my beloved Ben Gibbard. I have eaten amazing falafel, held three temp jobs, singlehandedly killed an entire tank of fish with one sponge, began a new writing group, witnessed the death of my sleek and sexy Vaio laptop, and finally coded my parent-friendly Web site.
But I don’t feel like writing about any of it.

Actually, I’ve been writing about it. I’m just not in a sharing mood I guess. Does not play well with others: Check.

Perhaps I’ll return soon. Perhaps I’ll continue solo work on my 52 Short Stories in 52 Weeks project. Or maybe I’ll go buy tickets in preparation for the following shows: Pedro the Lion (5/5 at the MidE), the Frames (6/5 at Paradise), and Jay Clifford (6/11 at House of Blues).

My friend Michael is moving to New York on Saturday. I’ve got a bone to pick with that fucking city.