Here's the thing. Reckoning on my lap & filling up the circle of my arms is so warm (rrradiateur), & besides it's amazing how much a little
Johnny Cash can cheer you up even when you've been trying unsuccessfully to take a nap for an hour.
Last night I careened around the apartment listening to Cowboy Junkies [thinking back to all those breakings-up-with-boys-&-girls::: how long has it been? since I had to cry like that? �& why last night...]]]]]
Today though it's the Man In Black & Mischka came over to watch High Fidelity after which I had an explicable desire to listen to old Bruce Springsteen records which my brother & I used to dance around the living room to, although he was always more of an �Out on the Street� kid & I went for weepy old �The River� & �I'm on Fire�.
[[warning>>>> you & you & you & you are about to get tapes from me. So is my father, who does not read this diary. Quite thankfully.]]
Here's the thing about me & tapes, which I already explained to jeffboy when he was here::: I get all these lovely & understated tapes in my little faux-urban mailbox & I swoon/groove to them on the bus in the mornings & the afternoons & the music is, as I said, lovely & understated & usually slightly pop-ish. Then I come home & listen to, you know, Johnny Cash & Bruce Springsteen & Cowboy Junkies & Kristen Hersh. Then when it comes time to make a tape, I dig out all the New Wave LPs & the Post New Wave CDs & my Massive Tape Collection (Which Everyone Makes Fun Of) & I end up with a tape that is basically Music To Get Dolled Up To. When I listen to my own mixtapes I want to put on my boots & gel up my hair & go out & dance with my hands a-moving & take my shirt off & come home all endorphin-y & crash. It all sounds dated & overstated & gorgeous.
Except tapes I make for my dad, because he asks for bluegrass & folk, & I can do that too.
Somehow this is not what I meant to write about at all.
I had meant to write about Not Going To Austin & how complicated it is getting. bean & I, & our friend J, are registered for the South by Southwest film festival which starts on thursday, & J has broken down. After lots of conversations that kept me up past my bedtime, bean & I decided it would be best not to go on a ten-day trip (which involves, total, four days of driving) with someone who is in the middle of breaking down. The problem is telling J that we will be cancelling our plans, while at the same time keeping her from going on her own & also keeping her from thinking we think she's �crazy� & �bad�. Somehow this responsibility has fallen to me.
Today on the phone she burst into laughter & said that bean & I "have morphed into one," & I have no idea what that was about. We have done nothing of the kind.
But now of course it is time to venture into the kitchen to start dinner. Remind me to post my kick-ass Vegan Cheesy Sauce Recipe, perfect for putting over baked|smashed-up potatoes (like tonight) or into casseroles or into salsa for the perfect quiblo junkfood delight. mmmmmmmm.
Outside my door it sounds like someone is home. But I guess that someone is just Tony, who lives across the hall even if he always stays over at his girlfriend's instead.
:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:well i know i had it coming / i know i can't be free / but those people keep a-movin / and that's what tortures me
[[[[[[johnny cash]]]]]]
