my friend mica just had a baby. his name is oliver.

good god, we're getting older. shocking.

i find that the more shows i do, the less i have to say about them; i suppose that's a good sign, that i'm becoming a professional and growing as a musician. i also suppose it's a little disapponting, because the more competent i become as a performer, the fewer and further between come the jittery pre-show butterflies that make the whole thing so...singular. which is not to say that i wasn't having a good time, of course. i had a great time up there, and i like to think that i was very, very on, with the exception of the bridge to detour. that ended up a bit of a mess. let us discuss it no more. there was much in the way of screaming and yelling and yodeling (from me; from the audience there was good-natured heckling, thanks in no small part to the World's Sluttiest Top™ and the leather pants) as well as some proper banter once i got comfortable--about halfway through the set. i sometimes wish that i could get two-hour sets, because i don't really hit my stride until about six songs in.

and the funny thing is, i didn't really think about r. while i was up there, beyond an awareness of his presence in some of the music. even when i was playing the new song, even when i was shrieking the chorus to 'hallelujah' (a song i'm certain i've forever ruined for him), even when i was singing the song i wrote about our twilight days as a pair. before and after, oh yes. a great deal. painfully so. but while i was up there, during the time that had kept me up the night before with worry for my own ability to soldier on, he was merely a peripheral thought. for some reason, i find that absolutely uproarious. in a perverse, metaphysical way, however, it makes sense: in order to get through the set, i had to squeeze all the emotions i'm feeling about him out of it. which meant that they spilled out into the preamble and the postscript. or something. but i think that's a nice image. kind of like a lovelorn cannoli, if that makes any sense.

anyway. for the first time in about ten months, i walked out of the orange bear without a set next booking. i was tired, and i'm tired of playing there, to be perfectly honest. it's been my primary venue for nearly a year, and it's time to start putting my nose back to the grindstone and selling myself to new venues. or take a couple months off. whichever. and if that doesn't work out, i have an open invitation to call in and book another show (behold, the power of scantily clad bosoms when you're dealing with a male booking agent).

but don't worry, i'll still be around. in open mics, in the studio and in your dreams.

the deadline to apply for SXSW is tomorrow.
i threw together my application package in just over a half hour, from running out for cds to burning them to filling out the form to breathlessly handing the whole damn thing over to the overnight courier.

it was quite a rush, let me tell you. something very nice about flexing those hyperspeed muscles.

and while i don't really harbor any hope in hell of actually being admitted (this is, after all, the most hard core live music festival in the continental united states), it is like anything else: if you don't try, you'll never know. and i want to know.

if i could insert sound effects, this is where you'd find the one of the hat falling quietly into the ring.

i find it funny that this year's matrix offerings are irrevocably marked as bookends to this year's love. the night 'reloaded' came out was the night i announced that i'd been dating r. for two weeks and that i really liked him--i was busting out the big seduction guns (goat's cheese and cranberry risotto) and everything. last night was 'revolutions,' which found me sitting in the theater, left cold by the film and musing on the passing of that particular happiness, wondering when or if i'll get to make that kind of announcement again. wondering if i really would ever make my peace with him. and finally hoping for it.

funny. but at least it takes the sting out of how utterly disappointing the films were. and for these small mercies are we grateful.

in other news, i am wearing leather pants and will be playing a show in downtown manhattan. and i'd love to see you.

quality.
delight.
tender.

what words do you have trouble looking in the eye?

contentment is a new song that you don't want to stop playing, even though your fingers are very clearly about to bleed.

i was so scared that i wouldn't be able to write about this, about anything, be able to write ever again. four weeks of being virtually unable to lift my guitar without falling to pieces, i felt like a piece of me was dying, like my last hope was lost. four weeks of having stones in my heart and lead in my tongue, four weeks of terror that i had lost what was more important to me than anything in the world. four weeks of having lost myself. four weeks of having lost my voice.

but it came back. my voice came back. and she's quiet, and she's tired, and she hurts all over and she still cries a lot. but she's come home.

though i will never forgive myself for letting him walk out the door with my confessional heart, even though it didn't stay away long, i will always find my solace in the knowledge that it loved me enough to come home. even if he didn't.

one of these days i'll forget that i love you

holy mother of god, i've almost finished a new song. a NEW SONG. at long, long, long last. to be crass, i feel the way you feel when you vomit after getting really drunk. it smells funny, it's kind of painful, you don't really want to be doing it...but your head is so much clearer once you do. that's how i feel. cleaner.

and i just compared my songwriting to vomiting. probably not the best metaphor i could have chosen.

p.s. it occurs to me that i should probably unpack the vomit metaphor a little more...it's not so much that i feel that gross post-vomit aftermath feeing, it's that i feel better, like i've dislodged something from my throat and can now breathe again...and yes, that metaphor is much better, isn't it? it's like i'm breathing again, finally.

be careful when conducting social experiments: sometimes they can open wounds.

check this schedule, yo
last week:
tuesday: recording and visitage with the divine miss n.
wednesday: buttermilk with tribe and the arrival of lady k.
thursday: open mic
friday: halloween (and let me tell you, it takes energy to swan about in that much vinyl), traipsing about with kate and jason
saturday: lunch at junior's, afternoon in prospect park, girly night
sunday: recording, grey dog, veg night and impromptu concert, late straggler to veg night appearing at half past midnight.

this week:
monday: drinks and possible alias viewing
tuesday: possible drinks and more recording
wednesday: matrix
thursday: show at the orange bear
friday-saturday-sunday: row dyland.

i may not be sleeping, but who needs sleep with extracurriculars like these? although, if i remain awake for any of rhode island, i'll be terribly impressed with myself.