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Drunk spelling bee. Made it to the third round this time (last year I missed “aberration,” somehow). The word that killed me tonight: scelerophibia. I spelled it with two Ls. Feel good about it, though. I’ll be back next year, coincidentally (B&C wedding), so I’ll give it a go again; maybe I’ll show up once every year in July and try to win the fifty bucks. Could be a fun tradition.
Trip has been non-stop kicks. Enjoying it very much. I really don’t miss Denver much right now.
In at 5:45am. No sleep on the plane. Regional rail (free, for some reason) into the city (but we met a nice fellow on the tracks who told us (Sarah Wells, me) that we couldn’t use a credit card on the train and if we didn’t have enough cash he’d cover us—so nice—that’s why this is the city of brotherly love), donuts and coffee at Dunkin’ (made me feel like I was in Boston again), and then picked up by Heather. Breakfast at—now I’m forgetting the name of the place. Incredible. Open-faced biscuit sandwich with veggie sausage, two fried eggs, gravy, and latkes with pear sauce. Philly has always had a good track record for food, in my book, and so far it’s holding to that standard.
Then back to where Heather’s house-sitting—gorgeous old brownstone-type; residing in the house is a gigantic Newfoundland, the biggest I’ve ever seen, drooling all over me—the thing probably weighs 150 lbs.—so, a too-brief nap on a toddler’s bed (surprisingly comfortable) and then up for a free show and live taping, Chairlift at WXPN, meet ‘n’ greet afterward and I tell them “Robert Laux says hello, I’m a friend, we went to school together” and they’re not as enthusiastic as I’d hoped about our mutual acquaintance. Then a beer, then back, leftovers, feeling so drained. Later: Courtney and Bob. Tomorrow: Jill on a bus from NYC.
Tired with every fiber of my body. When will I sleep?
(Aforementioned state-of-my-musical-life post will appear after this brief pseudo-stream-of-consciousness interruption)
Fri Sep 5
Looking for prophets and mystics in everything and everyone—none to be found
C. warned me not to idolize Kerouac, but it’s tough when you can’t find something you love that also loves you back
Sun Sep 7
Found out yesterday can connect to either T. Yorke or Bjork (my choice) in only three steps because Julia K. knows all Icelanders—over-caffeinated conversation from six until after dark—
A dream—coming around a bend—got my shirt up around my mouth (funny-looking)—girl in strange clothes—she laughs—later think I’m in love with her—try to find her somewhere—rest unclear
Watching Office, episode where Dwight is depressed over Angela, retreats into Second Life (ends up creating Second Second Life), Jim’s character in S.L. a sportswriter in Philadelphia and Pam making fun of him calling him “Philly Jim” and the first thing I think of is–well, predictable. You’re that whole city to me.
