getcher hand outta there. you'll gum up the werks.
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Whinge

Mrs. Dalloway Needs Her Happy Pills
posted: 03/27/07

Krikey. Seems an awfully long time. What with the stuff over here and the driving up there and the late night whatsits. Glayven.

I can't imagine that you'd care, but here's a quick recap.

Brian and I drove up to New Hampshire... when was it? A little more than a week ago. It was an 11-hour drive one way, and it felt like it. I managed to get us there (and back) without getting a speeding ticket. Because I wasn't speeding. And I need to keep my license.

I've been feeling guilty about it, but I haven't gotten around to writing the trip report (a trip is never done until it has been reported, don't you know). I have the pictures all edited and stuff, but I haven't taken the time to write anything. While we're telling truths, the trip was pretty uneventful. Which is good, really. We did two long, easy routes in Crawford Notch, the latter sort of by accident. I think we did better than 4,000' vertical in two days. We did not die. Bonus.

It was good to get out. I've missed climbing. I'll spew forth with the deets soon.

[Postscript: Here they are.]

This last weekend I saw "The Hours." It made me want to jump out a window. I thought there were some good performances (Ed Harris, Julianne Moore, Toni Collette - and Nicole's Nose did an obtrusive job). Otherwise, I thought it was poorly, and to the point, far too literally, in terms of dialogue, done. Michael Cunningham is a fine writer. This is a ponderous film. But then again, I'm not a repressed lesbian (yet), so maybe I'm missing something. (Oh is that what it's about? I hadn't noticed.)

After the movie I was in this place called Ristorante Piccolo (translation: really teeny pasta joint) in Georgetown, upstairs, sequestered from the truly happening 2' x 2' square bit of downstairs space in the place, when lo and behold, out of the past walks Julie Linker (formerly Son), who is married to another Linker I hadn't seen in... well nigh on a decade plus, except in my dreams, which is quite creepy, I assure you. Rick had been doing vanity searches recently and pulled up his name as related to this section of this here site a few weeks ago, and he'd emailed me, and we'd chatted. So there's Julie a few weeks later, and we talk and sort of borderline mutually freak, because neither one of us lives in Georgetown, and neither one of us ever goes there, but here we both are, and it's all s p o o k y. So Julie tells me to go downstairs and surprise Rick. So I did.

I went downstairs and I found Rick and Julie, along with another couple with whom they were having dinner, and I pointed at Rick and screamed: "Stop stalking me!!! Right now!!!"

Ah, old friends.

I am at my absolute wits end with the record, thanks for asking. We got the thing mastered a day before Brian and I took off to climb, and the last several days have been spent finalizing the design output, making any corrections that need to made, and filling out tens of thousands of forms, most of them PDFs, which crash constantly. Can I just tell you: copyright registry, Mp3.com, distribution logic or lack thereof - these things suck. If I weren't such a complete and utter control freak I'd seek some help. But then, things might go smoothly if I did that and how would I fill the quiet times?

So many things, so many things.

I uploaded loads and loads of clips, notes and photos last night. It's far more detail and outright minutiae than anyone will ever require. The record will be available for purchase via numerous Web retailers and a few other outlets early-April, I'm hoping. In the mean time, I grow my hair. The production and replication kicks off late this week. I hope to get out and play live soon, as terrified as I am about the prospect. Fear me.

You're going to need to get used to me whoring this thing, at least in the short term. I'm sorry. Baby needs new shoes.

I need a zinger... Gotta go out with a zinger...

It's not in me. Apologies. Here, read this instead.

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