Pictures from last night's High Strung show at the Union Bar & Grill. Criminally underappreciated everywhere, but surprisingly even in Athens, this time around; I don't think there were more than 50-60 rawk fans in the house last night.

Shame about that, but still a great show from the now three-piece group. Lots of new stuff in among the old (well, I'm assuming most of the stuff I didn't recognize was from the in-the-can Moxie Bravo LP) You know how it is when you find yourself championing an upstart little band that everyone should know about and nearly no one does - you wouldn't say they off their game, even if they were.

Let's hear it for matching star-spangled jumpsuits! And a clear inability to hold the camera still.



My kinda dame.


it's all a blur 


Gotta work on keeping that camera steady 


... 

Move over Al Roker. Sit down, Jim Cantore. Get your daily weather report from a name you can trust - David Lynch.

Frisch's Sketchbook 1966-71, pg. 34

WARSAW

Little to be had, if one were to want it, yet all the same one gets the impression that they live better than the Russians. They can smile at themselves. What they display in the shop window: taste without goods, imagination, gracefulness. It looks almost like bravado.

Yes, that's it. I'll be damned if I don't live my life with taste, imagination, gracefulness...bravado.

Seeing that wiccachicky posted one of those ubiquitous "You know you're from -----" lists on her blog (only slightly more ubiquitous than those "Which [insert forest animal/Family Guy character/Old Testament prophet] are you?" quizzes that grow from the same sites like kudzu), I wanted to see what I should know, to know that I'm really from the Nutmeg State...

Yikes, even the first few have me going "check, check, check".

I'm taking the liberty of italicizing the ones that resonate with me somehow, and my additional comments in parentheses...not looking too far ahead, I'm betting on at least a .750 batting average.

But is that a good thing?

You Know You're From Connecticut When...

You have hiked up a big hill or small mountain at least once for a keg party. (who hasn't?) You never went to a bar in high school. You thought that the only highways were 91 and 84. You thought everyone couldn't buy beer after 8 pm You actually thought that Hartford was big (but Bridgeport was bigger) You or someone you know has attended UCONN You drive a JETTA You still think that the Whalers are cool. You have been to Misquamicut and to that little hot dog place. There is a farm within miles of your house You thought bars were really for people over 21 Your high school thanksgiving football game was the highlight of your school year. You don't have an accent when you talk You have known at least 2 preppy rich kids from Fairfield who listen to Phish. You love Hilton Kaderli and your mom cried when he retired. UConn basketball rules and no one can tell you different You have deer in your backyard. (yep, most mornings) You didn't drink or do drugs until 10th grade. You still don't understand why people say that Connecticut is the richest state..... Your best friend went to Central, Western, Eastern and finally Manchester Community College. (no, but close) Your mom works at Travelers and your dad works at Pratt and Whitney. You have been drunk at the Meadows and don't remember the concert. You go to Riverside at least once a summer Your parents actually care about the Governor, the Patriots coming to Hartford, the lights at Christmas in Hartford & Channel 3 news. (partial credit) You have a UCONN flag outside of your house year round You think New Jersey was a toxic waste dump You hang out at Denny's You've partied at bonfires You have at least one friend with a pickup You think everyone works tobacco in the summer You think Old Lyme is a shore town You've been to Cape Cod You think the Connecticut River is endless The town diner is the only place open after midnight. You have at least 4 friends who drive Jeep Grand Cherokees You root for all the New York sports teams If anybody asks, you're from just outside of New York. You've never looked at a public bus schedule You have both girlfriends and guyfriends with the same name as you. You go to the diner late night to post party. (well, in high school days) You think New Haven is the worst ghetto you've ever seen (when living just north of Bridgeport? Elm City's a close second) You can proudly tell an outsider about Nutmeg. You weekend either on the Cape or Rhode Island at a summer home You have said... " I'm in a good location... Between both Boston and New York." You can carry on a conversation about Mike Liut, Torrie Robertson, and the Brass Bonanza. You have to explain Cow Tipping to people from out of state. When you go to a real city, you sincerely feel bad for every poor / homeless person you see. You get pissed at anyone who doesn't know how to drive in the snow. (pissed doesn't even begin to describe it) You can name all the members of the UCONN men's and women's basketball teams. You still can't find your way in Hartford (except for that bar area near Union Station.) You hold the door open for someone and they don't say "Thank You." (ALL the frickin time. I thought it was Ohio, not me.) You own a golden or a lab (family gets me the point for this one) You own real Oakley's You only know Westbrook and Clinton because they have good outlets You don't think you're a yuppie, but the rest of the country does You only ski in Vermont or out West Your mother is the head of the PTA There is absolutely nothing to do in the winter You live twenty minutes form either an Abercrombie & Fitch, J. Crew, or GAP. You sail, or know someone who does. You don't understand why everyone else has not been to Europe. You can't get through the week with out a Coffee Coolata Your family owns more cars than legal drivers (easily) School attire is a North Face fleece jacket, a North Face Fleece or L.L. Bean back pack, a plaid shirt, khakis, and Doc Martins. Summer footwear is either Reefs or Birks You carry your keys on a carabineer, but you don't know how to rock climb. (guilty in high school) You feel for the homeless, but are not willing to give up the golf course land to develop a homeless shelter. (as if we ever acknowledged there were homeless around in the first place) As a child you took horseback riding, golfing, tennis and swimming lessons. (two out of four gets me the points...you guess which two) You grew up wanting to be a lifeguard You own every DMB CD The state is so small you know where all the speed traps are You can't understand why people don't understand what your talking about when you refer to a "package" store You went to prep school even though your public schools are awesome People actually wear sweaters around their necks You've never taken public transportation (not in CT, I haven't) You know of at least one person who's house was totally trashed after a huge party Your mom drives a Volvo wagon You have at least one friend whose house was built in the 1800's You live in a huge colonial You know at LEAST one person who has been pulled over and found to have weed in their car The only overcrowding is of deer in your backyard Your house would cost half as much in any other state Your wardrobe contains at least three pairs of cords and five wool sweaters Half of your friends are from another town because yours is so small At least one of your friends has a sick house right on the water

Dewy-eyed and nostalgic now (I'm only half-joking), I go off to sleep wistful for my favorite place in this country, one of my very favorite places on the planet. Easier to love it when you're far from it.

I did mean to write a bit more tonight - it's been a good weekend for thinking good things. But I got caught up in my latest quixotic notebook project, which I'll say something about tomorrow, and the last couple hours have been spent reading a totally engrossing little gem of a book on Karl Popper. I'd like to finish it - or come close to it - tonight, so, give a few of my friends some love and some blog hits, and I'll make it all up to you in the morning.

Kem @ Critical Kem. Wheat-fed goodness from an Iowa boy who's hit it big.

Danielle @ National Champs Something. Loudest blog on the net.

Lisa @ pokydj. Seems to be down just now, I don't know why.

Tom @ Samurai No Kami Tommunism today, Tommunism tomorrow, Tommunism forever!

Zoran and Rinalda @ Technojunkies Balkan-Southeast Asian brain food - good for you and tasty too.

That's a nice sampler pack.

You ain't a tru playa 4 real until you've installed a shiny set of diamond spinners on your gold teef.

Into temptation, over in doubt
Black night, neonlight into my house
talking talking talking about
Out of frustration, over in doubt
Hold me now, I'm hoping that you can explain
Little Arithmetics
Got me down, they're fooling me again and again
Little Arithmetics
Got me down
Sometimes I feel like going down south
Sometimes I feel like I'm over and out
Talking talking talking about
Into temptation, over in doubt
Hold me now,
I'm hoping that you can explain
Little Arithmetics
Got me down, they're fooling me again and again
Little Arithmetics
Got me down

Four days of courting a migraine with the most annoying, bullshit statistical analysis assignment....ever!..and it's a day late already...shall be days late by the time I turn it in on Monday...I don't care.

... 

The more splendid it gets out there, the darker I get inside.

Friday afternoon at its breezy, beautiful zenith, and I'm sitting here inside, pounding away at this computer - not because I'm getting important stuff done - I'm not - but I just can't bear to be out and about, and I'm not really keen on seeing anyone right about now. Why these moods? Why this black dog (Churchill's evocative term for depression - I don't know any better description of it)? Why now, when everything is exploding into bloom like this?

As I said in a prior post, maybe it wasn't a bright idea for me to be reading Werther last night - not if I wanted to be uplifted, anyway. (For the record, I didn't want to be.) Funny, I noticed last night how the epistolary style (plain english - the story is primarily told in a series of letters) is more than a little bloggish - being that someone has already converted Pepys' diaries into a blog, could the Livejournal of Young Werther be that far off? Maybe someone a little more industrious than me has already gotten to it. Wouldn't be surprised. (That there are people more industrious than me. And that it's already been done).

That archetypal storyline: A hypersensitive, mercurial, foppishly absurd young man (German, of course) dissatisfied with himself, those around him, and his failures in art and love drifts aimlessly, returns to the place of his upbringing only to be reminded of how his youthful hopes and dreams were so much folly, loses his daemon and his mind in the pursuit of la belle dame sans merci, and finally, in a fit of desperate, hopeless passion, blows his brains out. The parallels are a little striking.

No. Not exactly. I couldn't do that. I could never do that, and there shouldn't be one person thinking I could or would. I'm not there and never will be. Perhaps in those sturm und drang days, you could lay a duelling pistol (borrowed from your rival, and cleaned carefully by your beloved, both unaware of your plans for it) against your temple and consider it Romantic. Those were the days! But what do we have here, now? Nothing so stylish. Taking a walk in front of the West Virginia Secondary in the middle of the night, maybe. No. I could not and would never do that. I've never even been close. Certainly not now.

Still things die, and parts of you die, and they fall away. This I believe in; I am prone to forming these concepts. During the last few months of my undergrad career in England, I realized, to my horror, that I was going to have to come back to the US. There was no way around it, or I wasn't imaginative or daring enough to come up with one - I supposed I could have scrapped and starved, but that has never been me. In the last few months I envisioned myself as having almost split into two people over the course of four years; the one who had grown up in the Connecticut suburbs and returned twice a year, only to feel that strange sensation of being a fish out of water in his own home, and the pleasantly detached expatriate, belonging neither here nor there, content, if not happy, to drift.

Happiness did not enter into it.

When I did go back, it was the latter that slowly, agonizingly succumbed. That one suffocated.

I found out a few nights ago that the one I really loved, the one I really believed I was going to spend the rest of my life with, whom I stayed with through impulsive infidelity, through the birth of her child, through a life-threatening disease, the one whom I finally lost, try as hard as I might to hold on to her - that she met someone last weekend. She's well within her rights. We're over, that was her choice, what she needed to do to get better. But I am overwhelmed all the same now.

It is really really really over with us, and so is a part of me. Last night I felt my chest get tight again, that suffocating feeling. Today, too. Something inside me drying up and falling away. Sitting here in a place that suits me just fine for now and yet at the same time somehow feels like a trap, the longer I stay here without a break. I have been here in this little town since January without so much as a weekend away, and there's no chance of having one anytime soon; I'm living hand to mouth as it is. I could not be more content in the sense of being surrounded by these books, these words, these thoughts others have and I have...trying to figure out the puzzle without an image to go by, and then put it all together. I could not be less hopeful, or more dismissive, of just about any other sort of happiness here.

I walk around taking quite a few pictures now, because words largely fail me.

Karaoke Star. 

"If you could see me now, dear Charlotte, in the whirl of dissipation - how my mind dries up and my heart is never really full! Not one single moment of happiness: nothing! nothing touches me. I stand before a puppet show and see the little puppets move, and I ask myself whether it isn't an optical illusion. I am amused by these little puppets, or rather, I am myself one of them; I sometimes grasp my neighbor's wooden hand, and withdraw with a shudder. In the evening I resolve to enjoy the next morning's sunrise, but I remain in bed; during the day I promise myself a walk by moonlight, but I stay at home. I don't know why I get up nor why I go to sleep."

It is not a very good idea for me to be re-reading Werther these days, for reasons which I'll elaborate on later, maybe.

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