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For I Am a SnowDog, Too I stepped out for a cigarette a little while ago, as I was becoming cranky with people asking me stupid questions (I don't smoke often, but every now and then, a cigarette is a nice little personality-enhancer), and stood in the falling snow. Unfortunately, the Weather Channel was wrong, and it is, indeed a little above 32 degrees Fahrenheit out there, so the snow is melting as it hits the ground, and there are a few puddles, but there's still plenty of snow left from Friday, and hopefully, it'll be cold enough later this week when it's supposed to snow some more that it'll accumulate a bit. I'm always amused at people who carry umbrellas when it's snowing. Don't they find it invigorating to get snowed on just a little bit? Don't they know that snowflakes in the hair and on the face render damn near everyone more aesthetically pleasing? After examining my reflection in a store window, I almost went back into the office to snag a digital camera and take a picture of myself with a little dusting of snow to post on here (My self-image is doing nicely today, for some reason. Perhaps it's because of the fellow I was chatting with yesterday who was trying to flirt with me and to whom I sent what I thought was a decidedly un-cute picture of myself in exchange for his, hoping he'd go away. Instead, he said I should be a model. He wasn't unattractive, but I really didn't feel it was appropriate for me to be flirting online when I have a VERY significant other. At any rate, I think of myself as fairly cute, but it's been awhile since anyone's told me they think I'm model-quality, and in reality, I'd need a lot more discipline and gym-time if I were going to pursue something like that, but it was nice, 'cause despite my rather active sexual history, I don't think of myself as being all THAT.), but instead, I went into the bookstore (carefully avoiding one of my co-workers' son, who's clever, but one of those sad souls who just always try too hard to be cool and who never stops talking -- dodging him repeatedly at the office holiday party really was a feat), where I noticed a massive sale and bought myself some geek texts (one on RedHat Linux, and one collection of essays on "Religion and Sex in American Public Life", not exactly light reading), along with the Chocolate Fudge Brownie Protein Plus bar which, along with a bit more Diet Pepsi Twist, was lunch. (Yet another probably incomprehensible ramble, but I don't feel like editing myself right now.) Ah, speaking of the office holiday party reminds me of what inspired the Christmas-related references earlier. Late last week, I was checking out Jane Siberry's website, where I downloaded a demo mp3 of her singing "Silent Night", so Friday afternoon, I listened to it whilst watching the random swirlies generated by Windows Media Player in full-screen mode, aware of the snow falling outside and trying to hold back the tears (I'm so prone to what I refer to with my Mother as "emotional overflow"; it doesn't mean I'm sad, just that my emotions are often like a barrel of water, which due to their intensity, fills up rather quickly and sometimes overflows), and I started thinking about all those things I posted in the last entry. I only just got 'round to typing them in here today. So Jane sang "Silent Night" (I'd just bought a copy of her out-of-print first album, remember?) and one of the partners (the one to whom I report most directly) wanted to copy the CD, which I allowed since it's out-of-print and hunting it down on eBay isn't gonna do Jane or anyone else who deserves it any good, and her website led me to Syd Straw's website, which led me to the website of I WANNA BE KATE, a tribute album to Kate Bush, and I found myself listening to songs that seem to be old friends again. While her girlish soprano and sometimes bizarre vocal foibles are probably an acquired taste, the lady is a poet and a hell of a storyteller, not to mention a surprisingly good musician. I sat listening to her oldest songs unsure of whether it was memories of my freshman year in college, (dyeing my then-shoulder-length hair black and stalking the streets in rockstar boots and that duster that, while frayed in places and very dirty, still hangs in my closet 'cause I can't throw it away, as it's been just about everywhere with me...Paris, London, crumbling bell-towers of 15th-Century Belgian churches, Dublin, Normandy, Amsterdam...and being crazy over a law student seven years my senior) or if those songs are really still so fresh and vital as to alternately put that knot in my throat and make me want to bound around like a fool. I think it's the latter, though. My junior year, I staged a performance of "The Ninth Wave", the second half of Kate's HOUNDS OF LOVE album, which was, as theatre, rather a failure, but musically, pretty cool. (It's a song cycle which tells, in impressionistic brushstrokes, the story of a woman lost at sea in the night and the visions which come to her as she lists amid the waves, alternately despairing and fighting for her life -- the ending is sort-of open to debate; I believe she is rescued, but even after seeing my production, some people still insisted she must have died at the end. Go figure. I was taking on WAY too much, and I didn't really know what I was doing at the time, so part of me would like to have another go at it now, but that's not really so likely.) Anyhow, while the music sounds a bit dated at times, I recommend Kate as an artist highly. There's quite a wealth of information out on the internet about her, though she's been working on her forthcoming album (no release date yet) for ten years now, with no end in sight (very typical of her), so go do your own research. If you're lucky, maybe someday you can have coffee with Ariel and me in Chelsea and play the "Identify That KateLyric" game. Heady stuff, I tellya. ;-) r
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