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Thursday, September 15th, 2005
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Wednesday, August 3rd, 2005
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Thursday, September 8 - Sonar - Rilo Kiley
Saturday, September 10 - Electric Factory - Bloc Party and The Kills
Sunday, September 25 - Ottobar - Minus The Bear
Tuesday, September 27 - World Cafe Live (Philly) - Brendan Benson
Thursday, September 29 - Black Cat - Brendan Benson
Thursday, September 29 - Troc - The Faint
Saturday, October 1 - Sonar - The Decemberists
Friday, October 7 - Electric Factory - The Decemberists
Saturday, October 8 - Camden - Beck
Wednesday, October 12 - Theater Of The Living Arts - My Morning Jacket
Thursday, October 13 - First Unitarian Church - The Fiery Furnaces
Friday, October 14 - Theater Of The Living Arts - My Morning Jacket
Friday, October 14 - Tower Theater - Franz Ferdinand
Wednesday, October 19 - Theater Of The Living Arts - The Bravery
Friday, October 21 - Sonar - The Bravery
Tuesday, October 25 - Electric Factory - Death Cab
Thursday, November 16 - First Unitarian Church - Murder By Death
Saturday, November 19 - The Academy of Music - Bright Eyes and Feist
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Those two slices of bread were pretty salty.
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There has been a magnificent thunderstorm going on outside for the last few hours. Earlier, there was horror movie lightning, thick bright flashes that made the sky glow, that illuminated the world like a strobe light, that painted things in stark black and white. The thunder crashed and the atmosphere sounded as if it were being torn apart. The rain fell and pounded the earth, splashed in little crowns. It falls now, and thunder rumbles in the distance, and the sky blinks and the clouds cry. Still there are lightning bugs in the trees, twinkling like Christmas lights, like film projectors, like tiny stars amongst the branches. They float and glow like fairies, out and dancing in the summer shower, collecting raindrops in acorn cap cups, chasing each other between the falling water.
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Wednesday, July 13th, 2005
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"I can well imagine an atheist's last words: 'White, white! L-L-Love! My God!' ---and the deathbed leap of faith. Whereas the agnostic, if he stays true to his reasonable self, if he stays beholden to dry, yeastless factuality, might try to explain the warm light bathing him by saying, 'Possibly a f-f-failing oxygenation of the b-b-brain,' and, to the very end, lack imagination and miss the better story."
-Yann Martel, Life of Pi
Just as a note, the subject line and the quote above don't have anything to do with each other. The quote just struck me, especially the bit about missing the better story. The subject line is about a totally unrelated, wonderful thing.
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I was going to write a bunch of stuff about what a terrible night it's been and how I really just would have liked to be able to talk to someone (not about the loneliness, not about anything, just a conversation), but it's not worth it. No one reads this anyway.
Conclusion: YOU ARE ALL TURNING ME INTO AN EMO KID.
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Wednesday, July 6th, 2005
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Today I heard from Erin from the first time in a really long time. She told me that Stella, Millie's sister, had died. She swallowed a string and it cut up her intestines, and she died during surgery.
To my surprise, this upset me a lot.
Not that I'm surprised I was upset over Stella dying, that's a given. . .but I cried. We got Millicent and Stella together. Erin wanted to get a cat for her birthday, and this family came in to her Ritz Camera one day and had a set of pictures developed with all of these tiny little kittens, and Erin asked if they were giving them away, and they were. And so we went, and Erin picked out Stella, and I took one too, because the adorable little black and white one looked like a Millicent to me.
They were so tiny when we brought them home. Little puffballs that fit in the palm of my hand. They waddled around the bathroom, and they met Relish and hissed at him after awhile.
I would get home from work and watch TV and crochet, and both of them would jump up on the futon with me, curl up together and go to sleep. Little angels.
The girl in my book is named Stella. Not after the cat, but. . .still connected to the cat. If my book were ever published, and Erin read it and asked if I named the girl after the cat, I would probably say yes.
This also caused something to happen that I never expected to happen again: I wrote back to Erin.
And Stella's death made me think of Relish and Millie. Millie is so far away now, living with Mary. I barely even see her anymore, and that's really hard, harder than I let myself think about. And Relish. . .christ, he eats EVERYTHING. I've pulled a foot and a half of string out of his throat before, the idiot. He's eaten Mary's shoes, chewed through Brie's bracelet. . .I've always worried about something like this happening to him, but this makes it a lot more real. But there's nothing I can do, other than make sure to not leave strings laying around. I can't watch him continuously, all day every day.
Stella was a little gray and white kitten, roly poly, with fur like a sheep's wool. Not curly, but coarse, thick, and almost as if it was coated with lanolin. She's was a little darling.
The trees behind my house are alive with lightning bugs. There are hundreds of them, maybe even thousands, blinking and floating. It's incredible. Like the tree is filled with tiny fairies.
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I went to all the trouble of creating this brand new livejournal, and then I couldn't think of anything to say.
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![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
withupsofloatin's journal
giddy.
mellow.
chipper.
happy.
lonely.
gloomy.