Too Askew is what I'll call it. Or Krissy's site. Or Krissy's blog And Words And Some Pictures of Baby Snails. Refreshing, readable, really. I think you'll like it.

Noteworthy gem: Birchlane.org Vol 1.No 2 It's part web gallery, part hand-held print-zine of photography and words. Nice, Bruce and Letitia.

Sitting here with my "YOU YOU YOU" mug, filled with coffee. Spraying the cats with squirt-bottle whenever they get into one of their surly entanglements, which is all the damn time. Are they lovers or fighters when they are rolling through mid-air, entwined by claws and teeth, spiralling, Matrix-style?

I dreamt I had a backpack full of clothes, ready to go on a cross-country trek with my mom and my sister. We would be walking and hiking across the country, through some very cold mountains, I knew for sure. I had also packed a few sentimental items for the journey.

Then, Brooklyngirl showed up, just before we were to depart. I hung out with her a minute, we talked... she was pregnant (I dont know, Alison...it was just a dream) and I used her cellphone.

When I went to find my bag and my family, my bag was gone. Missing. Jenni and Jan had their bags, but in the transfer from one house to another on a rolling luggage rack, we imagined mine fell off into the street. Someone must have driven by and made off with it.

"I had thousands and thousands and thousands of dollars worth of equipment in there!" I exclaimed in hysterics.
"No you didn't," Jenni and my mom countered... skekptical at my over-estimate. They were right. Maybe several hundred. Someone chimed in with "What does that say about our neighborhood?" I rolled my eyes at them.

I went searching for the bag. Into crevices, now I'm in a Moroccan medina at night. Small shops filled with stripped leather, shoemakers. Looking in wet gutters, I found a staircase leading underground. I took the stairs down, rickety, wooden, wet. Saw a huge rat drinking sour milk. Allison with me now, but I'm calling her Tiffany. "Tiffany," I say, "If I hadn't gone off with you, I would have been there to make sure my bag wouldn't get lost." And then I realize that skanky rat is my kitten, TheDestroyer. Her eyes are glazed over, she's mangy and sick, drinking sour milk off a rickety stair. "We have to help her, Tiffany." I exclaim. So we pick her up.

Then we hear Joni Mitchell playing from deeper down in the underground, and there is orange light glowing up from down there. There are deathly characters littering the stairs, I ignore them. They ignore me too, and in search of my backpack and the sentimental items that were in there, I descend the stairs deeper.

I wake up...go get my coffee in my "YOU YOU YOU" mug, sit down at my computer, my spray bottle on-hand to tame the frenetic cats...

...to quote PJ Harvey last night.

TGFB: Thank God For Bridget, who had an extra ticket and invited me to Polly Jean's show. Which was So Hot. Her gold sequined skirt was So Mini. Sources tell me she wore boys underwear under there.

What I need...What I need in this town is a connection. I need connections, because I really would have liked to be sitting in one of those Box Seats last night, watching PJ, with all my friends. I wouldn't even require a seat. We'd have been standing. Rocking. We'd have been singing, dancing, our hips doing our thing...

I feel like maybe I deserve it, a box seat at my favorite shows. Like, more than that guy in the left-front box seat who wasn't even watching the show, sitting down, gazing at the Hammerstein ceiling, which is nice, but...not really. And this one guy, with his cellphone? Jeezuz. These peoples connections are wasted on them, there should be a connection-revocation committee. It's discouraging, though, as Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins didn't even have that good of seats up there in the mezz.

Polly Jean played new songs from Stories From The City..., she played old songs from Dry, Rid of Me, Is This Desire, and To Bring You My Love. And I have to thank a former guy-I-dated, Ash, for giving me my first tape of PJ: Dry on one side, Rid of Me on the other. I still have it for practical more than sentimental purposes, because local cd-megastore is charging $19.00 for her cds right now.

And at the risk of sounding like, well, everyone, She rocked and she was so hot and she is amazing and she has the greatest body and her tits are obviously real and what a good show she put on last night.

On the topic of music... After working today, I bought my copy of Vespertine, whose recent tour I tried to get tickets for via ticketmaster (oh, did you know that ticketmaster really really really really really really really is really really bad?), whose site crashed, I lost the tickets and it's suuuuuuuch a boring story. Anyone got a couple extras for sale? See. It's so boring being connectionless.

Should someone out there wish to be my connection, I won't waste my box seats by sitting down, staring off into space, and/or talking on a cellphone during Bjork, PJ, or a single Knicks game. Thanks.
A lot.

+ brooklynkid
+ acute.org
+ alt.sense
+ madorangefools
+ the BFG
+ fredshead
+ rion.nu
+ brooklyngirl
+ lightningfield
+ moonmilk
+ subinev
+ harrumph
+ Krissy's Blog is good
+ photodude
+ stumbleoverwords
+ bgirl
+ transfixed
+ k10k.com
+ fodny.com
+ gmunk
+ kenholder.net
+ Luke Holder
+ stereobate
+ mcsweeneys.net