shaken & stirred

welcome to my martini glass


We are making packages, or rather Christopher is making packages, and when he gets too enthusiastic about putting in a beloved household item, I say, "No, not the plastic toy alligator."

Fun, fun. I have nothing all that interesting to say, as this day was a prelude--albeit a damn busy one (the blackberry is still mooing, dastardly thing)--to a nice dinner and third row at the Gillian Welch/David Rawlings show. Yay! It starts late, which is not so Yay!, but it's in a great smokeless venue and they finished their new album YESTERDAY and will probably play lots of songs from it, maybe even for the first time live which is always exciting.

There are links, but only one is going to make it because shoes are being tied and someone needs to use their computer so they're lurking. It's hard to truly laugh about the war, at all, but I do find it kind of funny that the D.C. power-PR guys have a fan club for the Iraqi Information Minister. No one will ever acccuse him of not being able to improvise. I'd love to see him do a one-on-one with Dan Rather. The mind reels at the possibility of a vortex of unreality opening and sucking them both in. Or perhaps not.


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