Look back in love not in anger.

Hey hey! New font. Little Sis edited my cover letter and changed the font, convincing me that I shouldn't use Garamond because "it's too fancy for you." She thinks Courier is more my style. I also like Century Gothic. Both have better names, as well--Garamond sounds like an hor d'oeuvre or complicated dessert. Courier has the zip and sass of a Renegade while Century Gothic evokes the weight of modern Sainthood.

The weight of Sainthood, at this precise moment, feels offset by the exhilarating weightlessness of doing crazy things. Or thinking about the doing of crazy things. I signed up for another Unicorn camp, this one so much more insane than the last, and it's shear terror mixed with the certainty that it will be worth it, whatever the cost and effect.

Things I have learned since the last post:

1) I do not enjoy enormous outdoor concerts. The music is not loud enough and there are too many people not responding to the music the way I want them to be responding to the music if they are going to be all up in my personal space. Even if the ticket was free, I should have stayed home. Wait: maybe not. Stephen Malkmus performed two songs from Slanted and Enchanted. He also wore an adorable hot pink shirt. He is edible.

2) The dude I had a crush on finally put the nail in the coffin. I mean, it lingers, but he literally seems to pop up and disappear like a whack-a-mole, and what must you do to win at whack-a-mole? Hit them with a mallet until they don't pop up anymore. Hey, Up-For-Anything Burnham, remember that rubber mallet I got you for your wedding? I need that back for a minute.

3) Don't Look Back indeed. A suggestion got me reminiscing and suddenly I was looking way back to the Neil House days. It makes me dizzy. So much love and pain and post-adolescence crammed into a year-and-a-half span. I wrote Mike Thorn! I want to run into Scottie Nieman on the street! I am remembering more than the potato cannon, finally. The whole time I was living a life in the center of some scene, I felt totally peripheral; and it took not having any connection to that world at all before I could look back in love not in anger. It's punk rock choir's fault--there is no call for proving anything when I feel like these songs are my songs. This is the upside of 30, then...you can't prove this wasn't my life. I have the zine to prove it. And a recording of Elliot Smith playing my living room!