fumbling with your heartstrings
+ thesamefire, happy birthday! Give me a character or pairing and prompt, and I'll see what I can do for a birthday drabble.
+ Work is interfering with my ability to watch tennis again. Belated: vamos, Daveeed! Dear Chuck Culpepper, STFU and sit down, I WOULD RECOGNIZE HIM. OK, I am biased, but Daveeed is awesome. Because he's quiet and soft-spoken and reads and isn't the tallest or strongest but he works so fucking hard (his coach is a marathoner, ffs) to keep his spot in the rankings. He doesn't have the flare that any of the other top ten guys have, but he's a work-horse.
+ The O's are a) tied with the hated pin-stripes for 1st in the AL East (or they were yesterday, I've been so busy I have no idea what's happened in the last day or so, except that they are playing IN BALMER RIGHT NOW, AND THE O'S ARE UP!) and b) were set to unveil the Cal Ripken Jr sculpture at Camden Yards. I am OLD. I REMEMBER SEEING HIM PLAY AT SHORT. AND AT THIRD.
+ JMDP is trying to even everything out with Nole at the US Open. I'm sort of hoping for a Murray/Ferrer final? Maybe? IDK IDK I'm invested in yelling "vamos!" at the TV. And I'm sort of ignoring the women's semifinal tomorrow, which will be pretty shriek-tastic.
+ Today was ridiculously busy. Usually at lunchtime I go through my google reader feed, but I never took a break, so I'm kinda afraid to see how unmanageable my feed looks right now.
+ Be more attractive, Subbans, I DARE YOU. (Ignore the terrible punctuation in that sad excuse for a journalism piece, though.)
+ I should probably go watch the DNC, but I'm so disillusioned with politics at this point that anything Obama says is irrelevant. Anything is better than the alternative candidate.
+ Instead, let's think about this:
One verse of Biloxi Parish lyrics, on Handwritten:
And all of our heroes were failures or ghosts
Burned out in brilliant explosions alone
And all of the blood and the sweat that they gave
Well we took it all and we threw it away
vs. the live version they performed in Oz last year:
I ain't seen my home in half a year
I miss my mother and my friends.
You tell Rita I've been praying
For all that trouble to finally end.
But when this whole thing is over and we land in Asbury's arms,
When the bands all quiet down and it's just you and me in the dark,
I won't say nothing because that's how I know your heart
I was thinking about this in the context of them being such proud Jersey boys, wanting to be home. And because someone asked me the other night where I'm from, and my instinctive response was, "Do you mean where I'm from, or where I live?" Because even though I've lived in Texas for 8 years, I still don't feel like I'm from here. I don't really feel like I'm from anywhere at this point in my life. I spent my formative years in MD (although never for long in a single home), moved to WI, then UT, and now here, and it still feels transient. How do you know when you belong somewhere?
+ Work is interfering with my ability to watch tennis again. Belated: vamos, Daveeed! Dear Chuck Culpepper, STFU and sit down, I WOULD RECOGNIZE HIM. OK, I am biased, but Daveeed is awesome. Because he's quiet and soft-spoken and reads and isn't the tallest or strongest but he works so fucking hard (his coach is a marathoner, ffs) to keep his spot in the rankings. He doesn't have the flare that any of the other top ten guys have, but he's a work-horse.
+ The O's are a) tied with the hated pin-stripes for 1st in the AL East (or they were yesterday, I've been so busy I have no idea what's happened in the last day or so, except that they are playing IN BALMER RIGHT NOW, AND THE O'S ARE UP!) and b) were set to unveil the Cal Ripken Jr sculpture at Camden Yards. I am OLD. I REMEMBER SEEING HIM PLAY AT SHORT. AND AT THIRD.
+ JMDP is trying to even everything out with Nole at the US Open. I'm sort of hoping for a Murray/Ferrer final? Maybe? IDK IDK I'm invested in yelling "vamos!" at the TV. And I'm sort of ignoring the women's semifinal tomorrow, which will be pretty shriek-tastic.
+ Today was ridiculously busy. Usually at lunchtime I go through my google reader feed, but I never took a break, so I'm kinda afraid to see how unmanageable my feed looks right now.
+ Be more attractive, Subbans, I DARE YOU. (Ignore the terrible punctuation in that sad excuse for a journalism piece, though.)
+ I should probably go watch the DNC, but I'm so disillusioned with politics at this point that anything Obama says is irrelevant. Anything is better than the alternative candidate.
+ Instead, let's think about this:
One verse of Biloxi Parish lyrics, on Handwritten:
And all of our heroes were failures or ghosts
Burned out in brilliant explosions alone
And all of the blood and the sweat that they gave
Well we took it all and we threw it away
vs. the live version they performed in Oz last year:
I ain't seen my home in half a year
I miss my mother and my friends.
You tell Rita I've been praying
For all that trouble to finally end.
But when this whole thing is over and we land in Asbury's arms,
When the bands all quiet down and it's just you and me in the dark,
I won't say nothing because that's how I know your heart
I was thinking about this in the context of them being such proud Jersey boys, wanting to be home. And because someone asked me the other night where I'm from, and my instinctive response was, "Do you mean where I'm from, or where I live?" Because even though I've lived in Texas for 8 years, I still don't feel like I'm from here. I don't really feel like I'm from anywhere at this point in my life. I spent my formative years in MD (although never for long in a single home), moved to WI, then UT, and now here, and it still feels transient. How do you know when you belong somewhere?