2001-12-28|6:05 p.m.
So, I must be a stranger to you now. That is if anyone even reads this. Or maybe I am just a stranger to my anthropomorphized diary page. So then, hello diary, I am back to your misfortune.
A lot has gone on. Celebrities, music, heartache, stress, disappointment, excitement.
I saw Tori Amos in a beautiful little concert hall last month, and it was blissful, but short. The concert was only an hour or so long, because she had another one right after ours. The best point of the night was when I recognized the first few notes of �Me and a Gun.� I froze and fright, pleasure, pain, and shock submerged me at once. I was at a place in time I never thought possible. I know that sounds so full of purple prose, yet I do not lie. That song is sacred. A place I have never been, but traveled to in nightmares. And still, it can make you feel comforted because �[you] haven�t seen Barbados, and [you] so must get out of here.� I felt so honored to even be there.
The next and latest concert I saw was Wilco. I made the mistake of giving blood before I went and I got sick towards the end and almost passed out. That was really the only down side to the night. Jonathan Richman, and his cute little drummer, opened for them. It was quite entertaining. I am only familiar with him through Something About Mary and yet he had me cracking up like I have been listening to him for years. Wilco was wonderful and played all the right songs, and I am not sure I could even say justly how amazing Jeff Tweedy is. I felt complete, as I stood ten feet away or less from my favorite band ever. And to top the night off, as the last encore was ending and I got back up to stand on my chair from sitting and being sick and I look down for a minute and I see Ethan Hawke in sweats and a beanie standing a couple feet in from me. I instantly knew who it was and told A and of course he didn�t believe it. When the show ended, I mustered up the courage to say hello and ask how he was. He said, �good.� And then I asked for his autograph on my ticket stub. The pen I gave him didn�t work and he pulled one out that he had and I told him as I left the lamest thing that entered my brain, �Good luck on directing your next movie.� When what I really wanted to tell him was that I thought it was excellent that he chose Wilco to create his soundtrack for the next movie he was directing called Chelsea Halls. And that I had read his book, The Hottest State and some of the lines in it were so perfect I felt a bit jealous that they never came to me before him. And that I have always been a big fan of his acting ability and I thank him for it. Of course, even that might have sounded lame, but at least I would have made it apply to him, and not just any actor/director that I happen to beg for an autograph. Oh well, I am sure that it doesn�t matter. He was about to go hang out with Wilco. I was breathing space and time between that moment. I passed without much notice.
When I used to edit for my high school�s news paper I hated fragments popping up before me. I whipped out my red pen and tore at them. Now, I love them. They give a voice to me.
Ok, I am gonna break for now. Until next time.
Word of the Month: sylvan- living or located in the woods or forest/ of, relating to, or characteristic of the woods or forest