Up up up

Up late listening to 4 versions of Chestbox. I'm hiring Paula Kelley to do a string arrangement since I loved what she did for one of my fave Ad Frank songs.

But, oh, trying to decide how and which. I mean, I've done it solo with piano, and with Turkish Queen with and without cello.

I could do an entire EP of just this song in multiple formats.

Anyway, went to the Harvard Film Archive for a movie tonight. Damn, I forgot how much simple fun that could be.

It was a film in their "East German Cinema" series.
The Rabbit is Me (Das Kaninchen bin ich)
Directed by Kurt Maetzig
East Germany 1965/1989, 35mm, b/w

Kool, it was. I forgot about German culture completely; I've been so wrapped up! But a reminder ist gut cuz I wanna go to Berlin this summer and visit Nico's grave.

Morbid, you say? Not really. I just admire her so. Plus I have some German blood and I'd like to investigate that part of my heritage.

Not to mention how I was flirting with a yodeling obsession a few months back!

At the HFA, I bumped into some old radio friends, one of whom is Magnus Johnstone. I hadn't seen him in about five years. He looked healthy and happy. He's making art up in Maine. He used to do the show before me at WMBR for awhile before he moved. And an awesome dub-hop show at WZBC. Apparently he's still doing air, unlike myself. He's over at WERU somewhere in Maine!

It was funny; just before the film started and everyone was taking seats, Magnus informed me he has his own website. http://www.magnusjohnstone.com Naturally, I gave him my URL. It was one of those "Damn, I haven' seen you since the internet" kinda moments.

I can only imagine how it must have been when, say, the printing press, or the telephone came along. It's hard to compare/gauge, but I'd be a fool to deny the interhole {as my buddy Peter once referred to it} has revolutionized communication.

OK, now I'm rambling.

My High Collar and Lace

Feels good to blow off some steam. The preliminary release is at another location. Puff.

I've been cheating on you with my other blogs - myspace, friendster. Sorry. I hope you understand...

Didn't know I had steam in me today, but I did once I processed the overnight emails. Er, actually when I sought out a blog I shouldn't've. I unsubscribed for a reason, damnit. But, it's like my relationship with coffee. I want it; I don't want it. I impulsively get it/read it.

Then there's a little guilt, coupled with the whimsy of feeling like I'm in control and getting what I want.

Yeah, redheads are nothing but trouble. 3 of them in my mind lately. Past, present, and dreamstate.

Had a busy week last week. Seems easy for me to be faux-happy like that. I got so busy I was barely home, except to sleep. I experienced my own backlash and wanted to relax in a drastic way.

So I took like 3 baths with salts, oils, and bathbombs. Oh, the luxury. And my rubber ducky with a tiara given to me by Twink and Wisteriax. And my Cynthia bath clamshell pillow.

Cynthia's getting married again. I find myself almost hyperventilating thinking about her dress and what it will be like. Lace, buttons, trim. What about my own wedding gown? I dunno if there will ever be one. I don't know if I could decide on something...thank goodness no one's asking! Would it be white, or black? White I think. Something corset-like. I saw one once in NYC with my friend Bliss when we were walking around. Should've bought it there on the spot. It was there - glorious - in a window. Shining, gleaming, sparkling, beaming with light and purity and beauty.

I would want a train naturally. Long, the longest ever.

But I don't really have a religion. I'm empty that way.

I only believe in love. Love outside the state or some god.

Empty.

Perhaps a high-collar. If I die unmarried, maybe I should be buried in a wedding gown. Married to myself and my woes and sorrows. Passions and unknown things to share, which no man seems to want to take. Elizabeth was married to herself and England. She cut her hair off.

Ach, life.

They say I'm melodramatic. Fuck them. At least I feel and express. Can they even string a sentence together? Perhaps it is more fashionable to be sarcastic, sardonic, cynical, snarky. True emotion is outre in this post-modern voidworld.

There is no place for a strong passionate woman who is straight in this world.

Perhaps I should keep him close to remind me of how I almost died.

They say to keep your enemies close. Closer than your friends.

He hurts me and he gives me gifts.

{Paula Vogel}

Then there is the good listener. But he's a cad. I am impressed that he remembers what I say. It's like he's actually listening. And such lovely Persian brows. He thinks he's American, the fool.

I get sarcasm from my father. It is ugly and I hate it about myself. It is no noble high horse.

LA & Beyond

My plan is coming into a clearer focus.

Today so far, I've contacted 8 venues about playing out there during my upcoming trip in late March/early April.

I'm really on a roll.

Next is Portland, OR and San Francisco.

Anybody got any suggestions/contacts?

=====

Last week, I was carrying around my book about rabbits. It's geared towards children, but I don't care. It comforts me. And the voice of the author comes across as a non-native speaker, making strange Nordic/Swedish comments. It's a sense wholly other.

The proud and pert Belgian hare. The floppy-eared English Mop. The Angoras, dripping with frilly tufts. The baby ones like anime animals. The crazy-looking Japanese rabbits. And all the illustrations portray the rabbits as scared and vulnerable or, alternately, peacfeul and blissful.

People asked me if I was going to get one for a pet, but I can't deal with things that need to expel waste or want to pro-create...

Feeling head-rushy today and really depending more on Naproxen than usual. As Peter would say, "pass-y out-ty". I hate it. Maybe it's 'cause I didn't take my medicine.

Oh well. Off to Providence again tonight for a dress rehearsal for this weekend's shows.

Had sushi for lunch. Rare treat. Sans sake...

What's the difference?

So I know many artists in Boston working in different media, primarily music and film.

Many of them have a very jaded attitude. Either they've had a taste of success and it dissolved for one reason or another or they feel they've been passed over.

These folks have a very anti-LA attitude, partially based on firsthand experience. Or, more often, based on complete ignorance.

I hear the same thing over and over...LA is full of fake horrible people.

Well what about people here who are nothing but cranky and jaded?

The cold weather alone is starting to get to me. I've been living here 9.5 years now and I think I've become more crabby 'cause of the damn cold.

It makes yr joints hurt and everything stiff and things feel twice as hard. And this winter is MILD!

But I think it's wearing on me.

And I've been to LA. I like it out there and I'm not afraid to say it out loud. I don't know if I wanna live there yet, or ever, but I don't wanna become jaded like so many people here who haven't made it as far as they hope/d.

It's important for me to be around people who are positive. I already tend toward the dour, serious, grave, and internally dark.

I feel good about what I'm trying to do musically, but it gets hard to find people to commiserate with who haven't been burned so badly they just seem hopeless.

I've heard a lot of talk from close friends in the past week who've been hurt by artistic disappointment.

My point is that what's worse: LA where folks are outwardly friendly but flaky or Boston, where people are cranky and jaded and spinning in wintry circles?

Damn. LA's sounding better and better, even though now more than ever I have things so properly aligned for maximal artistic growth. Piano space and rock space. Nice home. I'm comfy here. Please let spring break soon.