Xiombarg knows I'm taking off tomorrow, somehow. Since I was gone so recently, she's all pissy - slapping at me when I pet her (no claws though), getting underfoot while I'm trying to do laundry, sitting under things and Looking at me with significance...
It makes me crazier that I still haven't heard from Chris, my erstwhile cat-sitter. Argh.
The concert was lovely. I was so pleased that Sarah P. thought of me when she ended up with an extra ticket! Especially since I had been going to be out of town this weekend, so had failed to obtain one on my own. I'm still bummed about having to miss the Sol Duc trip with the Silver Mist folks, but... I'm happy I got to see the show.
She's a tiny, almost elfin woman, Ms. Vega - the feyness is especially strong when her ears peek through her long straight hair. She seems strangely fragile, until she speaks. Then the force of her personality hits you.
She seems to suffer from controlled shyness - or perhaps it was merely first-night-back jitters. She mentioned that this was the first show after an extended holiday break. There were a few bobbles, but she took them in stride in good humor. Still, her banter seemed a trifle scripted; again, there are always a few kinks to work out on opening night, even if it isn't the absolute first time you've done the show.
I've always liked her music, ever since I was given a copy of her first album as a gift uncounted years ago. But I've never been enough of a fangirl to run out and buy all of her work. Pearson lent me a copy of the latest album, and based on last night I'll probably run out and buy it fairly soon, as well as working on filling in the back catalog.
I'm really glad I got to see her.
Trader Joe's makes Crunchy Frogs. Okay, they call them "Chocolate Frogs with Popfizz" but...
Raven's brew Resurrection Blend coffee would be a fine, fine blend if it was roasted *just* a little darker than full city. It's still good, but I think it could be better.
I am so not into this New York trip. It's very odd, I find myself dragging my feet even more than usual. Plus there is a palpable aura of stress doing its best to enfold me.
I think part of it is dreading being poked, prodded, examined, stared at, searched, x-rayed, and otherwise intruded upon as part of my cross-country journey. I hate that feeling of trying my best to comply with the rules, but not really knowing what they are... Worrying about my choice of reading material, for example. Making sure I don't have anything even vaguely weaponlike on or about me. Should I leave my nice fountain pen at home, in case they get anal and start confiscating? It's pretty pointy looking, you could put an eye out with it if you were truly determined to.
Of course, the frustrating thing is I could put an eye out with damn near anything if I had to, in a pinch - up to and including my bare fingers. So why should I have to be concerned that my writing utensils are going to be taken?
I guess what the issue really is concerns how this plays into my general position on the continuum of normal to freak. I wasn't very good at being normal even when I was trying to pretend - not just trying, but working Really Hard at it on a daily basis. That was years ago, anyhow. I'm woefully out of practice at this late date. So I feel like I'm constantly moments away from being apprehended for sheer alienness...
Then there's the tie in to the Big Menace theory of the universe. I was raised to believe that the world in general was a Bad Place, if not wicked or downright deliberately Evil. This has had the side affect over the years of imparting an aura of menace to the sorts of proceedings that "everybody" is familiar with but with which I feel less than familiar or comfortable. Plane trips are certainly part of standard North American culture for my social and economic cohort, but personally I can still count the number of times I've flown somewhere without resorting to my feet. So it's still not really run-of-the-mill. It's the perfect level of not-quite-familiarity to allow doubt and disorder to creep into the proceedings.
Bah. I'm sure everything will go fine.
I seem to have migrated my online journal here whether I want to or not. I can't get my system to maintain a decent enough connection with Blogger to post there.
The cookie-phobes will have fits, I bet.