Not a Fan

I have four fans in my apartment. They're great for blowing around the hot air and making my home sound like LaGuardia.

Busy is Good

Twelve hour day today. Will be working Saturday too. I don't mind.

In planning Adam's memorial I've reconnected with two close friends from Denver. The friendships came back to life instantly, despite an 11 year absence. It's wonderful to have them back in my life.

Happy that everyone else in Tacoma hated the 95 degree day as much as I did. I'd rather be in my air conditioned office than in my indian sweat lodge of an apartment.
I could hold bikram yoga classes here.

Mock Three Times

There's something unnerving about walking into a Las Vegas hotel lobby at midnight and seeing some 60-ish guy in a tux singing Knock Three Times and wondering why anyone would choose to cover a Tony Orlando and Dawn song, then looking closer and seeing that it actually is Tony Orlando, and he's gyrating on a little circular stage, looking like a zoo exhibit.

This could be either funny or sad. I went with funny, and walked away snickering.

I know, I'm mean.

122

I went on a little vacation this weekend. My first stop was Laughlin, Nevada where it was 122 degrees. If you say "But it's a dry heat..." I'll deduct 20 points from your IQ.



122 degrees is fun as a new experience. However, it doesn't take long to feel one has had enough of such an experience. My friend suggested we head for a higher, cooler elevation, so I got the unexpected surprise of getting to spend the night in the kingdom of Sedona.

And no, it's not a village, town, or city. It's a kingdom.

Strand in the place where you live

Strawberry blonde. So mandated William, stylist and Mensa member, when I asked his suggestion for my most flattering hair color.

I'd walked into Sublime on my way home from work. I've been there before. When I asked for a consultation the receptionist said "I think we have someone you may be happy with. I know you've tried several others here..." Her tone implied I'd tried their patience as well.

William went to work and was thrilled with his results. "You look like an Irish lass!" he crowed. A neurotic, Jewish, not-happy-to-be-strawberry blonde Irish lass maybe.

When I got my hair cut at a different salon two weeks later, I decided to go for some highlights. A few blonde streaks to break up the strawberry monochrome.

Somewhere around the 150th foil, I fell asleep. Apres blow dry, microstrands of strawberry remained. The rest was bleachy blonde.

I'm going to go medium golden blonde. For anyone indulging their inner bimbo (or himbo) in this post, I want to be about a level 8. My natural blonde is about a 7. I could have just done it myself.

I so wish all my worries were this silly.

Evoke

Minimalism

Van Gogh Sky

Starts with an R

Prerogative

Yes, I have been adding and deleting photos in former posts. It keeps me amused.

Let it rain

Planet Soap

It's a peppermint-scented world.

Killing Me Loudly

Roberta Flack's Killing Me Softly was a popular song when I was in 7th grade. I thought it was boring and melancholy. Ick. Nope. Didn't like it. When it came on I'd twist the dial of my Tootaloop radio hoping for Three Dog Night.

Years later I learned what the song was about, and I got it in no uncertain terms. It remains a favorite to this day.

Tt's about the singer's experience at a Don McClean concert. As she sat in the front row listening to him sing one of his ballads, she fell in love with him. That others didn't consider McClean a sex symbol, or that she didn't know him is completely irrelevant. What her heart knew was profound and absolute.

This part of the song gives me chills, especially her delivery: He sang as if he knew me, in all my dark despair. And then he looked right through me as if I wasn't there.

Yes, I've been there and felt that.

But perhaps because I like roller coasters and spicy food and other exciting things, I don't get killed softly. I get killed fiercely and loudly and it's agonizing and I love it.

I experienced this at the Beat Farmers concerts I fervently attended in my thirties. When Country Dick was fully in the zone, totally living the moment, larger than life, I wanted him. I wanted him badly, as though he were a breath I'd die without taking. But I also wanted his zone. I wanted to be him, to connect immaculately with the music, the energy, the fury, the can't-go-any-farther-than-this. I'd get close- forbidingly close, going-toward-the-light close, a step away from where he lived, a chance away from being with him, and it was wretched and delicious.

I had a moment like that last night.

I know the singer personally. He's a sweet guy. But for one moment when the band had the whole audience in the zone in a hard-driving classic rock song, he was singing with such joy, such talent, and such power, I knew more about him than I ever expected to know and he killed me.

It felt great to be that alive.

Kaleidoscope II

I think I like this one better.

Just Your Everyday Balloon Man

Confession

I joined Rhapsody a few weeks ago. $14.95 a month for all the tunes you care to gorge on. It's the musical equivalent of brunch at the Rio.

All that music...every genre you can think of. A music guide to help you discover new music. 'Similar Artists' choices to connect you with additional choices you might like. All that, and the last song I downloaded was Fool for the City by Foghat.

Uh huh.

In my defense, is it possible to not be happy while listening to Fool for the City?

Of course it's not. The song demands a response of drooly, inane, imbicilic happiness.

Ok, don't look. I'm going to download Slow Ride.

If I mention The Bay City Rollers, you're welcomed to become concerned.

Going Places

I'm going to go to Portland and the Oregon coast sometime this summer.

Sometime in late July or early August I'm going to Denver for a memorial service for Adam. It's turning out to also be a reunion of the Jewish singles crowd Adam and I were part of in the early to mid 90s. I think it's good that the memorial service will be combined with a happy event. Why not?

By September (in a perfect world July) I'm going to be in another job. It's time for me to move on from my current position. Actually, it's been time for a long time. If you have any ideas for me, and / or know anyone who might want to be dazzled by me, please let me know.

I Love Coming Home to a Pink Mountain

It was a cotton candy pink; a very becoming shade for a 14,000 foot stratovolcano.

Was it Voters in Florida...?

I'm not a Kris Allen fan. Who is Kris Allen? He barely made it onto my radar screen. Talented, sure, but in a way that many thousands of other singers are talented. He didn't particularly impress me as a musician, but I have to say he was likeable when he won. I loved that he admitted Adam Lambert deserved the win.

I know most people put a premium on technical perfection. I tend to gravitate more toward originality. Adam Lambert is one of those rare performers who has both. He's the only American Idol contestant it would even occur to me to see in concert. The guy is an incredibly exciting performer. I love people who do what others can't or won't.

I'm not going to cry into my chocolate milk over the results (And no, I don't drink chocolate milk. If I did it would be soy). It was an interesting season. I'm looking forward to seeing more of Adam Lambert, and Allison Iraheta too.

Abstract Thinking