Tuesday, February 3
Every day, I told myself. February is a short month, there is something wrong if you can't write something on every single day of at least one month, just once.
This was a foolish thing to have told myself, but then, I am always telling myself foolish things.
It's not that I don't have material, mind: There are the Youngblood Brass Band, who I saw at the Zoo Bar the other night, which is a place you could easily write something about, and then there is the fact that it was ridiculously cold that night, and has been for most of the time since, which holds particular fascination for me because I don't have a parking permit this semester and wouldn't be able to find a space to park in if I did, and besides that would entail getting all the snow off the car and moving it out of the driveway; anyway, no matter how much milder the climate here is than some other places I have been, nothing drives home the fact that it's really fucking cold like going about on foot when you should know better. I could use this to segue into how when I was walking home the night before last some anonymous University employee in a very small pickup truck plowed me a clear sidewalk for like three blocks and I didn't get a chance to say thanks, but it kind of made me feel better about humanity. This could lead more or less naturally to how it is probably going to snow again, which by itself isn't that interesting a statement, but would naturally facilitate a discussion of why I think it's important to talk about the weather.
But back to the musical thing. I could also write about that Rilo Kiley show the other night, which was pretty good, or about the albums and performances of some singer-songwriter types like Teitur and Glen Phillips and Mike Bloom and this local guy whose name, I think, is Shawn Cole, who was cool enough to buy me good beer at the only bar in Princeton, Nebraska after he played acoustic stuff at a coffee shop one night, or about the Replacements tape I bought just because I thought I liked the Replacements but wasn't sure. (It turns out I was right.) I could even mention that I tried, again, to write some lyrics and discovered that yes, writing lyrics is really not exactly easy, in fact it's way harder than you might think, but it might also be far from impossible.
I could write about any of that. What I'm actually going to do is trudge over to the rec center and put on some cleats (red ones, Nikes, apparently intended for baseball, $15 Scheel's clearance rack) and chase a disc. Peace out.