That droning sound
I've been ignoring all things internet lately. This place, The Hathaway Family Plot, even emails are piling up in my inbox, unread. I keep thinking about posting something here but never get around to it.
The only reason I am now is because I'm in the library and I should be composing. And, despite a brief period of activity a couple weeks ago, composing is still intimidating and scary to me for some reason.
I have thought about writing a long account, including pictures, of our honeymoon in Maine. Or perhaps a political rant about my dissatisfaction with the Democratic presidential candidates and the way the whole dialog is going. Or perhaps just random funny or zen-like anecdotes. But no, nothing gets written. Last night I was battling insomnia and I composed some dirty limericks in my head. They were about men and women from Buffalo and Niagara and they all seemed rather obsessed with venereal disease or just poor hygiene. Perhaps I'll record those.
I've drunk some very good wine with a rich dentist who is a regular at our store. Been learning a lot. Not sure if this will lead to a job in the wine industry someday or just gradually make my wine habit much more expensive. I could bore you all with my thoughts on the excellent Super-Tuscans, Ribera del Dueros, Australians, and Bordeaux. This is more appealing an idea than you might think. I find myself much more interested in actively engaging wine these days and being more passive with music.
I have a few extra dollars now that the wedding is over. And it makes me incredibly happy just to be able to buy a cd or two each month. And a good, up to $40 bottle of wine or two. This is all I need. Augmented by lots of cheap wine and cds checked out of the library. Just listened to Springsteen's Nebraska for the first time today. How the hell have I gotten through life without this cd so far? Later this month I will probably buy an early Caetano Veloso cd and a bottle of Chateauneuf-du-Pape.
On Labor Day, Sarah and I took a trip to Letchworth State Park, one of those great treasures that has been practically in your backyard for years but you've never actually seen. Spectacular. On the way there we passed by a new wind farm and took some amazing pictures with the windmills. Those are still sitting in my camera, waiting to be uploaded to the computer. When you stand directly under a windmill and gaze up, it appears as though with each rotation the windmill is leaning further forward, about to come crashing down onto you.
There were no piles of dead birds as we had heard there might be.
I'm also reading a lot of Vonnegut, which may explain the rambling, broken-up nature of this entry. In the past month or two I've read Breakfast of Champions, God Bless You Mr. Rosewater, Slapstick, Bluebeard, and I'm rereading Slaughterhouse Five. I've also started to read some Palahniuk because it seems the thing to do as a 20 - 35 year old male.
Reading, listening to music, and drinking wine are all much easier than composing. And they are much more engaging lately, than sitting in front of a computer. Though I feel some guilt, oddly, for ignoring this journal and the myspace blog. As if they're kids or something. Or perhaps it's a fear that my readers have left and I'll be writing to a more vast silence when I do return.
Our two kitties and our dachshund are doing well. I've had two dreams about Mischka in the past week. Sarah wants to start looking for another cat. I can't picture another cat living with us.
So it goes. I should sign off or I will drone on forever.
The only reason I am now is because I'm in the library and I should be composing. And, despite a brief period of activity a couple weeks ago, composing is still intimidating and scary to me for some reason.
I have thought about writing a long account, including pictures, of our honeymoon in Maine. Or perhaps a political rant about my dissatisfaction with the Democratic presidential candidates and the way the whole dialog is going. Or perhaps just random funny or zen-like anecdotes. But no, nothing gets written. Last night I was battling insomnia and I composed some dirty limericks in my head. They were about men and women from Buffalo and Niagara and they all seemed rather obsessed with venereal disease or just poor hygiene. Perhaps I'll record those.
I've drunk some very good wine with a rich dentist who is a regular at our store. Been learning a lot. Not sure if this will lead to a job in the wine industry someday or just gradually make my wine habit much more expensive. I could bore you all with my thoughts on the excellent Super-Tuscans, Ribera del Dueros, Australians, and Bordeaux. This is more appealing an idea than you might think. I find myself much more interested in actively engaging wine these days and being more passive with music.
I have a few extra dollars now that the wedding is over. And it makes me incredibly happy just to be able to buy a cd or two each month. And a good, up to $40 bottle of wine or two. This is all I need. Augmented by lots of cheap wine and cds checked out of the library. Just listened to Springsteen's Nebraska for the first time today. How the hell have I gotten through life without this cd so far? Later this month I will probably buy an early Caetano Veloso cd and a bottle of Chateauneuf-du-Pape.
On Labor Day, Sarah and I took a trip to Letchworth State Park, one of those great treasures that has been practically in your backyard for years but you've never actually seen. Spectacular. On the way there we passed by a new wind farm and took some amazing pictures with the windmills. Those are still sitting in my camera, waiting to be uploaded to the computer. When you stand directly under a windmill and gaze up, it appears as though with each rotation the windmill is leaning further forward, about to come crashing down onto you.
There were no piles of dead birds as we had heard there might be.
I'm also reading a lot of Vonnegut, which may explain the rambling, broken-up nature of this entry. In the past month or two I've read Breakfast of Champions, God Bless You Mr. Rosewater, Slapstick, Bluebeard, and I'm rereading Slaughterhouse Five. I've also started to read some Palahniuk because it seems the thing to do as a 20 - 35 year old male.
Reading, listening to music, and drinking wine are all much easier than composing. And they are much more engaging lately, than sitting in front of a computer. Though I feel some guilt, oddly, for ignoring this journal and the myspace blog. As if they're kids or something. Or perhaps it's a fear that my readers have left and I'll be writing to a more vast silence when I do return.
Our two kitties and our dachshund are doing well. I've had two dreams about Mischka in the past week. Sarah wants to start looking for another cat. I can't picture another cat living with us.
So it goes. I should sign off or I will drone on forever.