Voice Mail Archives

Well, now that I mostly have my voice back, I feel like I can manage typing. And don't tell me that doesn't make sense because you know perfectly well it makes a world of sense. Just maybe not this world, maybe one of those infinite other parallel worlds where you took a right instead of a left, or your mother never existed, or when it rains, it rains donuts.

A moment of silence, please, for those of us who came of age in the 80's.

In my (newly official!) role as civic activist, I have started attending meetings of a few town boards, including the local downtown revitalization committee for a nearby village that last saw good economic times in 1880 as a whaling port. When some joker found out there was oil in the ground, not just thousands of miles out to sea in the carcass of some leviathan, the whaling/blubber business kind of went bust, and the locals went back to growing turnips and raking quahogs.

"I want all the kids to do what I do, to look up to me, to copulate me."

Last night Matt and I got all silly listening to records until early in the morning, and then decided it would be fun to play a board game. Then, after perusing our selection, and checking the clock, we decided a nice, tame game of rummy would suit us fine. Yeah, we had to go online to look up the rules, it had been so long since we played it. (I've always been a devoted Hearts player, but it's no good with just two people.)

I wish I had a camera (and knew how to post pictures) so I could share the amazing sunset that greeted me this evening, as I emerged from a barbeque benefit at my mother's church. But even the best digital camera couldn't have captured the aroma that accompanied this sunset -- a mixture of sweet barbeque ribs and chicken, pungent grassy soil, and salty ocean air.

Top five sounds of all time, as they occur to me right now, an insomniac wide awake at 5 am...

Well I've taken one step further in maintaining strict isolation from the outside world, and if you've been around me a while, you probably share my unease with this move. It tends to lead to keening in the shower after months of almost zero human interaction, which leads me to go to Ibsen plays and pant noisily over anyone who shows me a scrap of attention. Amusing sport for some, I'm sure, but I'd rather not have a replay of that particular little meltdown. I mean Ibsen's cool, and all. But you just can't always count on there being a production nearby when the keening starts.

In the latest installment of A Loose Cadre of Folks Who Know Brooks Comparing Lists Online (also dig these cats: sven, chele, i see monsters), I have completed my homework assignment and come up with my ten "desert island" albums. Oddly enough, I listen to a lot more blues and funk than this list would suggest, but we agreed that compilations and anthologies were "out" so I was at a bit of a loss in those genres.

Things I learned while watching the DNC...