Welcome To My Bed

The Narrows, the Ron, the universe crammed in between my ears.

Point B, which is our weekly artist shindig at AS 220, was fabulous. I am still inspired by the afterglow days later. It was like being in a multi-medium cipher, and we all had so much fun. Afterwards, Meg and Eric came over and we went for walk down by Roger Williams Park in the dark and told stories for what felt like hours. The friends I am making here are all because of the arts, and they re all exactly the kinds of people I need to be spending time with to keep the wheels in my head turning at the frenetic pace I want them moving at.

Yesterday work was canceled because of the rain, something I found out when I had already driven halfway down to Narragansett, but thankfully I had brought clothes with me this time, so I pulled over on the side of Route 4 near South Kingstown and changed, then hung a U-turn and drove to East Greenwich to chill with DC at work. We had many good talks and I wrote endlessly in the back room until we ventured next door to get delicious Mexican food. I am becoming convinced that a burrito is all I really need when I'm thinking complicated thoughts. After finishing our extended lunch, I said goodbye and headed back to the city for some quality time at Blue State Coffee with Meg and a bunch of her friends. We spent a few hours doodling and talking about old TV shows.

When the caffeine party adjourned, Meg and I headed to my apartment in Cranston to grab directions to Dan's feature at the Narrows in Fall River. I made her what she claims is the best grilled cheese she's ever had. We sang to the cats. And then we sang some classic Alanis Morissette on I-195 East.

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Fall River is a very interesting place, as you can see by the graffiti. And I am pretty much in love with the Narrows. DC's feature was fabulous, and there were some really great acts on the open mic. Meg and I were melting into puddles over it for most of the night. At the end of the list, there was a block of four female performers, which was so exciting. I love seeing women perform. I got kind of upset earlier in the night that all the slots had been filled by men, but the quartet of women made it worth it, especially because the night was rounded out by my new friend Kayla, the only performer who played piano. She has the sweetest voice, and it was a pleasure to hear her a second night in a row after the intimate performance at Point B on Tuesday.

To finish off the evening, DC, Meg, and I stopped at Nice Slice on Thayer Street for final sustenance and talked with one of the staff there for awhile. He suggested this delicious creation he had concocted - margherita pizza with broccoli and chicken. We urged him to get it put on the menu and to name it after himself because we had been calling it "the Ron" all night anyway. After considerable ruthless people watching, poetry reading, and group hugs, we put a cap on everything and all headed home. I have been having some of the best nights of my life here, and I do not hesitate to say it.

Today has not been planned yet, but Saturday is the Providence Arts Festival and a whole bunch of the Point B kids are going to get together for a picnic and chill session. And then Saturday night, DC is playing a radio show, which will be destination number two. I could not have picked a better Neverland to steer my course towards. No matter what, I am sure that this is exactly where I am supposed to be.

Also, "Jolene" by Ray LaMontagne has been popping up everywhere, and I thought I should share it with you because it is one of my new favorite songs. Follow the link to see him performing it live at Abbey Road.

Out of sorts.

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Some days, I feel as destroyed as Ryan Gosling in Half Nelson, but I'm definitely not addicted to cocaine, so I have to explain it away as emotional instability. Today I think it has a lot to do with how run down I get before a big slam. The Grand Slam for the last slot on the Providence nationals team is tonight, and I'm competing. I haven't been letting letting myself dwell on it, but it finally caught up to me yesterday when I was at Tazza with DC. Afterwards we went back to AS 220 and half passed out on his couch. I could have slept like that all night based on how exhausted I had been feeling for most of the day, but I woke up to him having a nose bleed and realized that it was after two - parking ticket time. I didn't want to go though. I have serious trouble leaving ailing people behind, even if it's just a good friend with his head tipped back looking a little pale. I don't like walking out of rooms uncertain of how the people left in them will continue on. It's probably a symptom of the fact that I worry too much.

I woke up well into the afternoon today and ran poems while making falafel for lunch, and though I have at least seven of them stored up and ready to fire at any given time, I feel unnerved. Not nervous really, just a little frayed and jittery. I'm hoping to make a good showing tonight. I don't want to think about it. Not in the slightest. My sister is coming to see me perform for the first time. I feel a little ridiculous.

In less stressful news, I finished the proof for my latest chapbook at about 3 AM today. It's a little bit of a hybrid with a zine because everything is handwritten and there are collage aspects to it. I'm going to take it to a copy shop in the next few days and get some printed up for my feature in a few weeks. Something to look forward to. I got invited to perform tonight after the slam at Snookers, and I got another invite to perform during Sound Session at Tazza in a few weeks. Networking in this city has been very good to me. I feel like such a part of the arts community. It's going to hurt to leave this place in September. I keep having a feeling that if I leave and come back, it won't be the same. I want to finish school and I only have one year left, but I getting very attached to a life independent of academia and the strife constantly caused by college students. But anyway, a preview of the chapbook:

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I promise better pictures when it's printed, cut, stapled, and ready for business. They'll be for sale on the 23rd, but if you want one and you're not able to make it to Providence that night, just let me know and we can work something out.

Evaporate and condense again somewhere cooler.

I know I have disappeared off the face of the planet, and while I'm not going to apologize because I'm really not sorry for having the capacity to enjoy real life more than virtual life right now, I will give you a little bit of an update on the goings-on in my life currently. But a short one, because there are serious things to accomplish today.

First off, work has been incredibly hit or miss, and I still don't have as many shifts as I'd like to. One day, I'll make over $100, and then others I'll make less than thirty. And my last paycheck was somehow screwed up. I'm trying not to stress about it. I really like all of the people that I work with thus far, which is a first for me - usually there's someone I cannot deal with, but I have yet to meet that person at this job. Also, because I'm standing on a deck next to the ocean every shift from ten AM until whatever ridiculous hour of the night they send me home (usually around eight or so) my face is incredibly tan and I'm not really sure what to think of it. All I know on that front is that I am happy to not have any kind of bizarre tan lines from my polo shirt. Yet. Keeping my fingers crossed that that never happens, but we can only hope about these things.

Changing directions quickly...

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DC and I went to see UP the other night with his friend John who is visiting from Tennessee for the week (hear the band he plays guitar for here). I am not ashamed to say that I cried three times. It was a really fun, sweet movie, not Pixar's best, but definitely one of my favorite movies I've seen lately. Not that I've really been going to the movies much in the past few moths. Things have been too hectic to make such concrete time commitments. The following night a bunch of us went out for happy hour and then Kait invited us to meet up with her at Forbidden City on Federal Hill. None of us had ever been there, but I was excited by the prospect of walking up to a bouncer and saying "Emily + three" and getting to jump the line. Which we did, landing us in wall to wall Gotti blowouts, too-loud Lady Gaga, and some really skanky-looking go-go dancers. Kait bought me a drink and apologized for the intensity of the place (this was a Monday night, but apparently everyone there was quite alright with going to work smelling like someone else's hangover on a Tuesday), and we left soon after to head back to AS 220. I still do not know what to make of that place. An establishment with "Tea Room" in the title should not have wall-sized projection screens or even a bouncer. There should be tea. And that's it.

Yesterday I drove down to East Greenwich to have lunch with DC next store to his job and ended up hanging out with him for about three hours even though we were going to see each other at night back in Providence. We've been getting wrapped up in very serious conversations lately. Whenever I ask him what he's thinking about, he always says, "the universe", and I always tell him that it's impossible to fit the entire universe into your brain. Tonight we're going to Writer's in the Round at Tazza, a little show that DC plays with a few friends every first Wednesday of the month. He's been a little under the weather lately, so he might not end up doing it this time, but I gave him echinacea and vitamin C pills to try to fix the mystery sickness, and hopefully that will help. I'm missing the NorthBEAST regional slam to hang around downtown tonight, and it doesn't even really phase me. In another life, say about a month ago, I would have been devastated by my temporary lack of gas money, but lately I am loving Providence (and Rhode Island in general) far too much to leave.

Wrapping up, today's activity will be to assemble the chapbook/zine that I'm making especially for my feature at Blue State Coffee in a few weeks and begin the search for a copy shop of some sort to make such an endeavor possible. I'm going to make it have mostly Providence-specific poetry, which will hopefully make it sell well with the people who go to that reading. We shall see.

And I leave you with this - last night, someone sincerely called me sexy, and I actually believe him. I am a seriously changed person. I'm worried no one will recognize me when we're back at school in the fall, with how rapidly I feel myself changing.

Sometimes, I forget it's still possible to surprise myself.

Today was a day of wonderful surprises. I had a committee meeting to revise my Div 2 contract this morning before class, and while eating a bag of pretzels on the floor of a hallway with my committee member and talking shop, I got invited to read my poetry at a panel for accepted students, was informed that I can pass Div 2 in the fall (which means I'll be graduating a full year ahead of schedule instead of just one semester), and she also told me that the first piece I submitted to the workshop we have together was "amazing" - better than just plain old student work. It feels like everything is clicking. My feature is Thursday, and I have another with the team in April at Marlboro College in Vermont, and now this campus reading where I'll be representing the entire campus spoken word community (such an honor, considering how many truly amazing poets go to school here).

It seems that all the labor and love is paying off. Even with all of the endless distractions (another entry for another day), I have managed to go above and beyond the call of duty. And it feels fucking awesome to be validated in that.

Pie!

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Why yes, that is a key lime pie cooling on my kitchen windowsill, and yes, I am about to have a slice. The perfect activity for such an awesome day. I'll update properly later, when I'm through licking my fingers.

Nose stuck in a book.

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I have been making sacrifices for the sake of academia, and I don't know how much longer I can take it. Currently reading Elfriede Jelinek's The Piano Teacher and Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury, a combination threatening to spin my brain into outer space. The nature of the narration in both is jarring in both great and troubling ways. This semester is really changing the way I look at books.

The weekend of my Jersey reunion was wonderful, punctuated by the party my housemates threw on Friday night (half the school was in my living room; I was hiding out in my bedroom, or what I lovingly referred to as the VIP room until people I do not consider VIP's barged in and decided it was going to be the coat room instead...if I have never spoken to you in my life, I doubt that leaving your coat on my bed is your best bet whoever you are). Shooting for James's movie on Saturday was grueling, and none of knew our lines very well, but we managed to finish ahead of time and have a great night. My new friend Lizzie and I went Polaroid crazy and documented the evening of quiet debauchery quite well. If only I had a scanner, I would show you. Seeing Maggie and Lizzie off on Sunday was sad for me, but with spring break in two weeks, I guess I should just get over myself, because I'll have time to spend with them then.

Yesterday was a snow day (because New England just doesn't know when to quit), and I woke up at eight thirty anyway, managing to finish all of my homework for today and then some while also taking two or three naps throughout the day and finishing the proof for my new chapbook Finite Differences. I'll have thirty copies printed by Friday afternoon, making this my first serious (non-computer-printer-driven) foray into self-publishing. Hopefully thirty is enough for CUPSI and home, where I am sure to unload plenty of copies (fingers crossed).

This is the first day in a long time where I feel able to breathe, but I know the moment won't last. I'm expecting the onset of a panic attack any day now. I'm more than overdue.

P.S. I am debating whether or not to get a $13 tattoo on Friday the 13th this month. I'd be in Philly, so I'd have to figure out a way to make that happen. But I'm itching for some new ink, and I don't know how much longer I can wait.

Lazy Sunday, sort of.

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That dress is barely cold (I haven't even attached the pockets yet), and already I'm knitting something new. I don't know where the space in the day comes from, but I'm making headway. It is in what I have lovingly referred to as a mac 'n cheese type yarn, and I'll post pictures when it's finished, or close to being finished, because we all know how impatient I am.

As CUPSI gets closer, I feel an eerie calm falling over me, and I'm not sure if I should be alarmed about it or not. Kat has lost her voice for the time being; we haven't finished working out our group piece yet; I need to get a new poem off page that Charlie is convinced will score well. Everything seems to be stacking up against us, but I am convinced we'll pull through and make a good showing when we end up in Philly in a few weeks time. And as an addendum to that note about future travels, I am very excited to be making my way back home for some serious basement cleaning, Spring break will most likely be me knitting, reading, sleeping, and purging my house of all the things I have pack-ratted away since middle school. Taking the train home from Philadelphia costs $12.50...something about that seems old-world romantic to me, and I don't know why. I have a feeling I'm going to do a lot of writing on the train, both to CUPSI from here in Amherst and from 30th Street home. I can't wait.

The Oscars are tonight. James and I are reprising our pool from last year, making it our first real annual tradition. I feel kind of old saying that, but I like it. I hope we do it again next year, even if we can't watch together. I am sure the night will precipitate a rant of some sort, so stay tuned for some movie talk (which I haven't had the time or energy to accomplish in too long). Until then, I am entrenched in literary theory.

In post-script, James has my copy of High Fidelity, but every time I suggest we watch it, he makes some disgusted comment about John Cusack. I just don't get it. That man is a god to me...

Getting restless.

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I cannot stick with one haircut for very long. And while I am somewhat enjoying how my current hair can be manipulated into ponytail configurations (it's been years since such things were possible), I am also itching for something different. Yes, I know I got a haircut in January. It probably has been a little over a month, and I'm already bored. How I've been dating the same guy for over a year, writing the same book for more than two, studying the same thing for basically my entire life is completely beyond me. I guess when it comes to my appearance, I allow myself room to be fickle.

But anyway, this summer when I saw Wristcutters: A Love Story for the first time, I fell in love with Shannyn Sossamon's hair, which I typically do whenever she is anything. I think I just have a throbbing crush on her, but for our purposes, that is besides the point. I am thinking my next haircut will be something along the lines of hers in the movie. But who knows when that will be. I have no idea when we'll be be done shooting pick-ups for James' movie, as we have yet to finish principal shooting. But three weeks from now, when we've essentially wrapped, I'll return to the notion of going short again. Really I'm just pining for my former baldness. I am hopelessly lazy when it comes to styling and other such nuisances.

In other news, I finished my first major needlework project, a dress in in acid yellow. Incidentally, my housemates a throwing a hi-lighter party next weekend where everyone will be required to wear something neon. I feel very well-prepared.

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Yummm.

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Apparently freedom tastes like acid yellow yarn (80% Pima cotton/20% wool) on sale for less that $4 a hank at Webs. With a rare empty afternoon, I went and got a long overdue haircut - it's been over two years since the last time a professional has handled my hair...since senior prom. I shiver at the thought of such disasters, although that was probably one of the best haircuts I've ever had. Also, that weekend someone tried to hit on me in a Starbucks by telling me to give him a call if I ever had "the jungle fever". I kid you not. So probably one of the more memorable periods in my life, to be sure. Anyway, new haircut, but I'll only show you when I have found the perfect amount of wax-like products to put in it to make it not look like I'm a member of the Jetson family. Not that I mind such things. I just don't think it's a good everyday way to be. (I am clearly getting delirious as a result of the time of night; feel free to stop reading at any time).

I wrote a five page scene for my film class this afternoon, and in spite of its obviously flaws, I'm pretty proud of myself for churning out a chunk of solid dialogue without months of coaxing. As I said to James last night, it took me years to get the characters in my book to want to talk to each other, so fictional conversation is definitely not my strong suit.

Anyway, I have to get up at 7 AM. Oh how I love January. Just another two weeks and it will all be turned on it's ear again. We start shooting Evan's movie on Friday, and I could not be more nervous or excited. Acting is such a strange new fish.

Spinal Fluid, Volume 1.

So I doodled a zine of sorts the other day when I had to open the library by myself. A very poor representation:

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Maybe Cass and I will make it to the yarn store today if the roads aren't horrendous. And if they are, there's always Zelda and current projects.

Hey let's go.

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And here is the Totoro, for anyone who was curious. Apparently over the past few days I have been a little in love with stuffed anime characters. Here he is in his natural habitat -

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I wanna curl up and watch that movie with hot cocoa and candy cane cookies.

Gentleman caller.

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So there you have it, that's the painting I had been slaving away at for James' Christmas present. I can finally post it because we exchanged gifts the other day. He always loved the vintage pint glasses I managed to pull together, and the coffee mug, and the crocheted Totoro. I'll post pictures of that little guy later. He is either really cute, or really terrifying. And as for what I received, James customized a Game Cube for me so that it is the colors of a sunset, and with that he gave me Paper Mario (my favorite Mario game by far) and Harvest Moon, probably my favorite game of all time. Also, there was a DVD copy of the skulls, one of the best worst movies. I love it. I was/am so happy. I think we were both pretty creative in these dire economic times.

Anyway, since James has been here, I feel so much better about being home. He makes everything much more comfortable. We spent Sunday night with Maggie and Sherry playing pool and air hockey in their extensive basement, talking about Bob Dylan and Dead Heads, enjoying ourselves immensely. Everything always feels right at their house, but it felt even more right this time. He's the missing puzzle piece.

Last night we tried to watch I'm Not There with my dad, but everyone in my house seemed dead set on interrupting us at every turn. My sister Kaitlin kept wandering in and out of the room, each time with a new problem. And even though we teased her about it, she still didn't realize how annoying she was being. I love her, and everybody in my family, but sometimes I get a little overwhelmed by them. I'm going to have to watch the movie again soon, just so that I can actually pay attention to it. But from what I did catch, it was beautiful.

Knitwit.

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I have been knitting on and off since the age of nine, and crocheting for nearly as long. But somehow, I manage to avoid noticing Webs, an amazing Yarn store in Northampton. My friend is a manager there, and yesterday I made my first visit and fell in love, especially when she showed me the warehouse portion of the store, where everything is always at least 50% off. My favorite part was the reject aisle, because closeout prices on things with mohair and cashmere and merino in them is too exciting for words.

I ended up buying four balls of Mondial Oggi yarn in this beautiful rust color. It is so so so soft (probably because it's 40% mohair, 40% acrylic, 20% merino wool) and as soon as I got back to campus yesterday I started in on my first knitting project in a really long time. At the rate I went, I think it would be plausible for me to open an Etsy store. I am binding off now, three balls later. Knitting makes me feel endlessly accomplished.

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And now, I will do laundry and rearrange my furniture and curse the day I adopted my messy habit of just tossing things on the floor when I get distracted. Also, I'm beginning to think that Between the Acts is my my favorite Woolf, but then I think that every time I read another of her books.

On fire.

Before a dinner of turkey meatballs, egg noodles, and gravy (mmmmm), I assembled and bound the first copy of my third chapbook in so many days. I know, this is non-sensical. No one will ever buy such things. No one wants to read me. I guess I can make excuses and say that I have at least 5 chapbooks worth of material on my hard drive and at least another 3 floating around in journals that are either sitting on the shelf in my room here or my room in New Jersey. But really, this was just a long time coming.

This one is called "Name Without a Place" and has mostly stuff I wrote recently (unlike the other two, which are essentially comprised of the oldies but goodies of my library), including pieces that have not yet seen the light of day, "Sleeping With Tyler Durden" & "Tug-o-War", along with freshly revised things that have only been heard by people on campus here. My friend Matchstick told me he wanted one, but that he only had a dollar. I told him we could work out a barter of some sort. I am up for that with anybody. I plan on trading books with my friends, for obvious reasons. (If it's not so obvious: we are all broke college students, most of us poets who don't get features just yet and if we do they are infrequent, and therefore hawking merch is slightly difficult.) But beyond that, a couple people in my fiction workshop told me that I better bring copies the next time we meet. I feel flattered. Excited. It's so official to be able to hold a book of my own work in my hands, even if it is only held together with staples.

That being said, I really need to give up this bookmaking to Duplications, because I think my printer might kill me in my sleep if I keep imposing my insanity upon it like this.

At last.

I procrastinate. It's just in me. But when I get going on something, it is difficult to stop me. Take tonight for instance. Caroline Harvey's feature blew my mind like it hasn't be blown since the first time I saw James Caroline perform. I wrote half a new poem during the feature, drove around with Sam after the diner for at least two hours, and then I came home with two other poems in my head. So I wrote them. And then a third. And then I decided it was time for a chapbook.

Now, I have been talking about such things since last fall when I first started writing poetry seriously. Maggie tells me that if I get famous one day, I will have a more heavily recorded life than Buckminster Fuller on the day that I die, and she's probably right. I journal every day without fail. Sam reminded me tonight that as the most prolific poet he knows, I had the material for a whole library of chapbooks, and that it would be best to get underway before it became too difficult to start. And so I did, because tonight (of all nights) I have adopted some of James' recent insomnia. My brain is too full for me to stop.

Here it is, in all its glory:

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It's called Welcome To My Bed, after this old blog, because Grace always used to tease me last year that if I ever had a chapbook, it would be called that. I adopted the insult and made it my own, which makes me proud. If you look closely, you can see that the cover photo is the header photo (a little different) from the top of this page. Oddly enough, I don't think I've ever posted any of the poems in it here. Anyway, table of contents:

Someone Else's Driveway
Crystal Methadone
Kentucky
Mermaid
Drive Me Home
Tight Jeans
Bali Shag
Quiet All Talk
Epilogue (or, Someone Else's Driveway Pt. II)

Most of the poems were slammed at various locations over the course of last year. I know for a fact that most people in New England have heard Someone Else's Driveway and got sick of hearing it, because it was the one piece I had that was almost guaranteed to score well no matter where I was competing. Epilogue is a bookend for it, a little closure for the thought I started in writing the first piece at all. And the rest have their own stories.

James always says that it's impossible for me to write anything that doesn't come from a place of love, and I think that this book contains the poems that made me realize that. Next project, making more than ten copies of this thing. I desktop published using Word and my now-sleepy Canon Pixma, so I had to limit myself. After I make more copies, I will assemble my next effort, which was actually in the works since before this one, entitled Name Without a Place, which is mostly comprised of pieces from last spring through this summer and early fall, although the mental line-up I have for it changes almost daily, especially with all the new stuff I wrote today.

I don't know how I'm ever going to get to bed. I cannot wind down from this day.

More American than apple pie.

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I did my civic duty yesterday, and my shark is very proud of me. This is the first election I've ever voted in, and my family seemed surprised I had even registered. My dad woke me up this morning with a phone call, explaining himself for going away for Thanksgiving because my sister told him I was upset about it, when in reality I didn't even know. I asked him if he voted, and he got very dejected and complained that none of the candidates he voted for won. But he did provide information I had been wondering about for the entirety of yesterday: my mom actually went to the polls. She has never been a political person, but every four years when the election came up, she would just vote how my dad told her to. Now that they're not really together anymore, I have been thinking long and hard if the woman who runs from polictical discussion would throw herself into the line of fire. And she did. I'm more proud of her, regardless of who she voted for, than I am of myself for changing my mind at the last second about voting as an institution.

Anyway, the point of this is that my family was sure that I just didn't care enough. I wish they could have been here to see the campus last night, and then ask themselves again if it is even possible for me not to have an opinion of some kind. As soon as it was clear by a serious margin that Obama had taken the election (in the company of the shocking new blue states of Virginia, Indiana, and Ohio), everyone on campus started screaming and there was this palpable sense of relief. We all ran out of our house to hug and congratulate each other on the end of the era of mis-step that we grew up with. And the everyone spontaneously ended up on the library lawn, where people had assembled with every musical instrument I could think of and were playing celebratory music, dancing, and chanting things like "yes we can" and "Obama". The overwhelming sense of joy was almost too much to take. I didn't know if I could believe that it was true. I kept feeling like we'd go back to James' place and the pundits wold be pointing and laughing at us, one big "gotcha". But then again, that's what the past eight years have been in a way.

All of us ended up crying at one point or another, and with good reason. This is a generation-defining moment. We got the vote out. Turn-out is projected to be the highest it's been in decade, especially for my age bracket. I really feel like I mattered here, that this election was one for the people who have grown up having to do with less and less. When we were little, we were living in the budget surplus of the Clinton administration, and though foreign policy wasn't the greatest, we weren't losing thousands of lives in a war with wishy-washy intentions. Bush II saw the decline of our middle class, our way of life. Our parents taking on more than they could handle in terms of hours at the office and debt in order to give us what we wanted, and there was no end in sight. I am coming of age in the wake of the era of the latch-key kid. We are used to being thought of as harmless. But we were not harmless yesterday. And now that our voices have been heard, there are no limits to what we can accomplish.

And we have this man to lead us out of the multi-faceted crisis we have been sinking in since it all began eight years ago.

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I am hopelessly self-absorbed.

gabba


In the infinite amount of down time I have at the library, I get up to some pretty standard internet-type activities. Like Googling myself. Most of us have done it (including James McAvoy's seriously unlikely "bad-ass" character in this summer's Wanted, in fact it kind of catalyzes his desire for change), and I am no stranger. There is a woman who writes film reviews for the Village Voice with my exact name. If she ever gets asked about this blog (though I doubt many people read it outside of my immediate realm of consciousness), I apologize. No one deserves to be credited with such tripe. Anyway, I was Googling myself and coming up with various interesting things, none of which were me, unless you count the youtube videos floating around somewhere past page five of me performing poetry very poorly last spring. And in this fit twice-removed self-examination, I decided to Google my blog. In quotes, because the title words are all so common. And I found a post I had no idea about, one on the Tamur Records blog, refering to one of my posts from back in July. And it made me smile, all of it. Including the picture they chose to represent me, a very bald picture from last fall where I would look like a skinhead if I wasn't smiling so much and wearing a lilac colored dress.

So above, you see a picture of Gabby, the person who, whether realizing it or not, was my window into the world of successful home recording. I am listening to her sing right now on my ipod. Tamur's doing a really cool thing for kids who just want to get their music heard, so check them out. They're accepting demos until November first, so if you interested, go read about it.

Speaking of independent productions, Black 29 is beginning pre-production on one of two films it is responsible for in the coming year, Go Ask Alex, which is my friend Evan's smart, trippy, way-too-awesome reinterpretation of the perennial classic Alice in Wonderland that I am sure we all remember fondly. I have seen so many version of this story (including a musical porn version from the 1970's) that it is usually hard to get excited about new takes on it, but I am beyond enthusiatic about this one because I know just how talented Evan is. There is information on their blog, and there will be a website up soon, which I'll be sure to post a link for. So do some looking, and if you're in the Amherst area, come audition!