The following are not helping purge my urge to travel:
- 25 Days in Turkey, photographs by Eugene Kuo, summer 2004;
- The Washington DC Book Festival (just try to block out the name that follows “library of congress”, that’s what I did anyhow) is happening this Saturday, with Neil Gaiman and Neal Stephenson;
- McSweeney’s first annual Icelandic Film Festival, in San Francisco this month;
- The Novello Festival of Reading this month in Charlotte, NC, where the darling James will be wrangling one of my favorite authors;
- My Seattle sisters will be enjoying Neko Case next month, backed up by her full band. I would love to join ‘em;
- Allison & Brock are currently traveling together on a top secret photo assignment. (Okay, it’s really not that top secret — they’ve been hired to travel around the world to photograph as many hotels/accomodations & tourist attractions as they can);
- And, only available in the UK thus far, the Complete Buffy Collector’s Edition Box Set (Series 1-7). A trip to pick it up in London next month would be so much more satisfying than just pre-ordering it online. Not that we can afford either option.
My consolation prize? I get to go out tomorrow night. Again. That’ll make for the third consecutive Friday night. All with our friend big Dave, oddly enough. When I asked the husband if he’d mind he surprised me by smacking his desk and saying, and I quote: “Dammit, I’m sick of that shit.” For those of you who don’t know him, which is most everyone, this was funny (of the ha-ha variety) because a) he rarely curses, and does so only for dramatic effect and b) the man has no temper to speak of. When I made my placating “there there” gesture by affectionately patting his right arm he exclaimed, in mock alarm, “hey, that’s my mousing arm!” Silly man. So, long story short…I’m going to see Low play tomorrow night at the Triple Rock. Again. I’m looking forward to it, but it’s bringing back eerie memories of this time last year…when our dear friend Starfire came down from Duluth for the weekend (to see Low at the Triple Rock, among other things) and went home with a broken jaw. Hopefully we will all leave the show unmolested. I’d say “in one piece” but that expression has always seemed odd to me, like it would be far worse than the condition one started in…implying that one’s entire body would be fused together. Uh, yeah.