No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction at anytime.
There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction,
a blessed unrest keeps us marching and makes us more alive than others.
-- Martha Graham to Agnes De Mille
Was || Will Be || Past Moments || Now || Notes

2001-11-07 - 10:55 a.m.

Good news, and bemoaning the lack of a black eye.

Yeah, so here I am on a Wednesday morning, and in the midst of all of my typical "I don't want to be at work" angst, there is good news.

Sam Shaber is playin in LA right when I'll be there.

It's fate.

It's Kismet.

It's a big old whopping Karmic Big Mac.

This is so freaking awesome I can't even tell you. She only comes through Colorado like once a year, if I'm lucky. She does a *lot* more touring on the coasts, and since I'm not independently wealthy just yet, I can't exactly fly out to her shows on a regular basis.

Oh, but, see now the gods are smiling on me, and during my regularly scheduled vacation, I'm going to see her play. Cause it's my vacation, and I can do whatever I want, right?

(By the way, those of you who read and live in NY, you *must* go check out Sam play. That's her home town, and she plays there a lot. She's a folk musician, so I'm not exactly being a prophet of righteous rock n roll like some others you might read. I mean, really I'll just come out and admit that I'm a fan of acoustic estrogen music. But honest and for true, Sam is the greatest musician. In the world. And since *I* can't just catch a cab and see her play, *someone* has to go do it for me. Really, you *must* check her out.)

In other news, I'm disappointed this morning that I don't have a black eye. Because I *should* have a black eye. I stopped a goal with my eye last night. For those of you who don't know, I play goalie for an indoor soccer team (we lost again, 7-2, and they didn't even have any subs, sheesh). So at one point one of their better players is bringing the ball down the left side, and he gets to the edge of the box, and I'm rushing up, kind or hunched over (with my hands out, to cut his angles) and I get maybe two or three feet from him, and I look down at the ball, and Blam! it bounces off my right eye. He just uncorked it and I took it full in the eye from point blank range. My vision was all fuzzy and distorted out of that eye for about ten minutes (though, of course I didn't leave the game). And let me tell you, it hurt like hell.

But this morning, no black eye. So I can't come in to work and be all macho and telling stories and stuff. Blah.

Oh yeah, one more thing. The singing Buffy episode last night? Brilliant. I mean, kind of an ad for the dairy council (Behold, the power of cheese), but just brilliant.

Okay, back to work.

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