Quill Upon the Paper
Italian Induced Insomnia
I have developed a raving case of insomnia. Especially on nights like tonight when work is the equivalent of trying to build a house with all the power tools come alive in classic Beauty and the Beast fashion. There was the annual festival to celebrate the life and works of Rossini in town tonight. You, if you're like me, will only know Rossini from Bugs Bunny singing the Barber of Seville.
Welcome to my shop,
Let me cut your mop,
Let me shave your crop-
Daintily.
I love that cartoon.
So people who left the festival found it worthwhile to come to the Bucks.... at roughly the same time. So, as I told Andy, I couldn't tell you who was in the store tonight, but I know I made a lot of drinks. But that level of operation leaves me with a muddle-headed hyperactivity that doesn't quickly diminish, even though it's Sunday now, by a widening margin. It seems that I close so often on Saturdays now.
In answer to my goal-setting, I have purchased a ledger to keep records of shows with. Now I'm a sort of Bob Cratchett figure with my nondescript olive messenger bag and my black ledger, keeping Scrooge's records in case it ever matters. Maybe it's good business and a good idea. So I've been told. I also have a preliminary list of settings for my book, and that's all I shall reveal on that subject.
Recent news brings me to New City Cafe's Songwriter Shootout. I got to go Thursday night and did pretty well in the whole durn thing, and met some great folks in the process. I told Kat that we'd all be better just to sit around and play without being judged by someone, which brings me to the suggested t-shirt from last year, when Andy Peterson was cast as a judge. We simply found it uncommonly hilarious thinking of "Andrew Peterson is judging you," on a t-shirt. Even now, seeing his face with the stern and weighty gaze of an inquisitor on it brings a laugh. He's too kind a fella to wear that face. Don't tell him I said so, he'll blush and dig his toe in the ground like we all do. I finally met some people at this competition that I've 'known' only through MySpace in previous days. I suppose the best and most humbling part was the light show on the drive home. The second line of recent storms past through, and bless my wife for driving. She knows I can't watch the road for watching the show. There aren't words for lightning any more than there are for kisses. We laughed later at the newspeople telling us there were "unconfirmed reports of a tree down in Jefferson County." I fully expected some old boy in overalls to come on camera and say in amazement that there was water...a-fallin from the sky. So goes the news in Jefferson County. But I suppose no news can't be bad news.
Off to the shower. I'm going to try to get off that gross I-worked-hard feeling before attempting to sleep.
Welcome to my shop,
Let me cut your mop,
Let me shave your crop-
Daintily.
I love that cartoon.
So people who left the festival found it worthwhile to come to the Bucks.... at roughly the same time. So, as I told Andy, I couldn't tell you who was in the store tonight, but I know I made a lot of drinks. But that level of operation leaves me with a muddle-headed hyperactivity that doesn't quickly diminish, even though it's Sunday now, by a widening margin. It seems that I close so often on Saturdays now.
In answer to my goal-setting, I have purchased a ledger to keep records of shows with. Now I'm a sort of Bob Cratchett figure with my nondescript olive messenger bag and my black ledger, keeping Scrooge's records in case it ever matters. Maybe it's good business and a good idea. So I've been told. I also have a preliminary list of settings for my book, and that's all I shall reveal on that subject.
Recent news brings me to New City Cafe's Songwriter Shootout. I got to go Thursday night and did pretty well in the whole durn thing, and met some great folks in the process. I told Kat that we'd all be better just to sit around and play without being judged by someone, which brings me to the suggested t-shirt from last year, when Andy Peterson was cast as a judge. We simply found it uncommonly hilarious thinking of "Andrew Peterson is judging you," on a t-shirt. Even now, seeing his face with the stern and weighty gaze of an inquisitor on it brings a laugh. He's too kind a fella to wear that face. Don't tell him I said so, he'll blush and dig his toe in the ground like we all do. I finally met some people at this competition that I've 'known' only through MySpace in previous days. I suppose the best and most humbling part was the light show on the drive home. The second line of recent storms past through, and bless my wife for driving. She knows I can't watch the road for watching the show. There aren't words for lightning any more than there are for kisses. We laughed later at the newspeople telling us there were "unconfirmed reports of a tree down in Jefferson County." I fully expected some old boy in overalls to come on camera and say in amazement that there was water...a-fallin from the sky. So goes the news in Jefferson County. But I suppose no news can't be bad news.
Off to the shower. I'm going to try to get off that gross I-worked-hard feeling before attempting to sleep.
posted by A. Whipple at 12:46 AM
1 Comments:
I'm doing well the ripe old age of 24 treating me well so far.
I'm gonna start to try to read that book Paul and His Letters that I picked up last year from the CN Bookstore and a Billy Graham book about the 4 Horsemen.
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