(no subject)
Well, hello there, LJ, it's been a while.
Just got back from the world's most necessary vacation, to the Western Catskills and a big gay motel with theme rooms (I'm not even kidding: we stayed in a room called "Fred's Lair," with a distinct Flintstones bent. My far-too-easily-embarrassed self cringes at the number of possible untoward inferences this may engender.)
There was also the Boss at SPAC, which was at least as transcendent as expected. Something about being at one of his shows makes you want to believe, and believe in, just about everything. It's hard not to feel immense gratitude for three hours of letting go and singing along and dancing with strangers. I have way too much Uptight White Guy in me to let that happen too often. It's all for the good, since it means I appreciate it that much more. Many of my Top Ten Favorite Springsteen Songs Ever made it on the set list, including Racing in the Street. Almost got to hear Night again, as one of the request cards collected was in the form of a wheel with a spinning arrow that kept landing on it. Bruce decided to go with Two Hearts instead though. Gave some old ladies a thrill during Dancing in the Dark and then off we went for a late night Stewart's run.
For all of you with actual daredevil complexes/death wishes/the like, I highly recommend that you go tubing down the Esopus Creek. I prefer to not leave the possibility of bashing my skull into a rock so completely up to chance, but you may feel differently. Please note that head gashes, as I have recently been reminded, bleed a fuck of a lot and heal in a particularly unsavory manner, especially if you have hair as thick as mine. If you do manage to avoid considerable injury, though, it's a rollicking good time.
OK, now to step out of this gorgeous cool dry night and into the cubicle farm of Job Number Two. These kind of evenings make me eagerly anticipate shivering on the water-sand line at 3am sometime in late October. It will feel like this, but saltier and more bracing.
Just got back from the world's most necessary vacation, to the Western Catskills and a big gay motel with theme rooms (I'm not even kidding: we stayed in a room called "Fred's Lair," with a distinct Flintstones bent. My far-too-easily-embarrassed self cringes at the number of possible untoward inferences this may engender.)
There was also the Boss at SPAC, which was at least as transcendent as expected. Something about being at one of his shows makes you want to believe, and believe in, just about everything. It's hard not to feel immense gratitude for three hours of letting go and singing along and dancing with strangers. I have way too much Uptight White Guy in me to let that happen too often. It's all for the good, since it means I appreciate it that much more. Many of my Top Ten Favorite Springsteen Songs Ever made it on the set list, including Racing in the Street. Almost got to hear Night again, as one of the request cards collected was in the form of a wheel with a spinning arrow that kept landing on it. Bruce decided to go with Two Hearts instead though. Gave some old ladies a thrill during Dancing in the Dark and then off we went for a late night Stewart's run.
For all of you with actual daredevil complexes/death wishes/the like, I highly recommend that you go tubing down the Esopus Creek. I prefer to not leave the possibility of bashing my skull into a rock so completely up to chance, but you may feel differently. Please note that head gashes, as I have recently been reminded, bleed a fuck of a lot and heal in a particularly unsavory manner, especially if you have hair as thick as mine. If you do manage to avoid considerable injury, though, it's a rollicking good time.
OK, now to step out of this gorgeous cool dry night and into the cubicle farm of Job Number Two. These kind of evenings make me eagerly anticipate shivering on the water-sand line at 3am sometime in late October. It will feel like this, but saltier and more bracing.