If Yr Lucky, There Will Be a Rumble

I keep writing blog posts in my head and then forgetting them.  Here are some things I've written and forgotten:

1. How I cried while watching Maya Angelou on a PBS special about the genetic background of African Americans.

2. How my toilet sort of exploded, and the plumbers left all sorts of inexplicable objects in my bathtub.

3. How I've decided to paint my bedroom pink in April.

4. How Boston (the band) officially asked Mike Huckabee to stop using "More Than a Feeling" as his campaign anthem.

5. How I bought tickets to see The Breeders.

6. How I planned on spending Valentine's Day doing my laundry, cleaning my room, and going to bed early.

7. How I actually spent Valentine's Day at Menahan Tree, and stayed up all night with Yoko, gossiping about things that happened in 2004 and 2005.

8. How I saw some cops hanging out, with some kids lined up with their hands on the wall, and how everyone involved seemed to be having a genuinely good time.

I think that's it.  I played a really fun (and really LATE) set tonight at Dizzy.  I talked to some sweet people who had never heard my music before.  That felt really good.  But there's something about leaving a gay dance party - like the physical act of LEAVING - after three in the morning, after most of your friends have already left, after taking too long to find your jacket, after getting paid, after thanking the sound guy, after looking behind you at a nearly empty bar, and then walking out onto the street, where even your three pairs of socks don't really protect you from the cold air...there's something about it all (especially when you're still psychotically alert from two cups of Yerba Mate) that always makes me a bit lovesick. 

Have I written yet, on this blog, about how Matt Katz and I were talking about love, and I told him:

katherine once said to me