I'll be the first to admit it. I have not been very good about updating my blog. Frankly, I've been totally jive. I've been violating the "I will write something at least once a week rule" willy nilly. And it's not that I don't have anything to write about either. I could write about the death of the pope. By pope, I mean the former pope. Don't worry, Benedict is still alive. I'm talking about JP2, whose funeral I watched live and in its entirety even though it was a work night and lasted until way past what I would have called "dark o'clock" when I was three.
I could write about the police stand-off that took place down the street while I was watching the aforementioned funeral. I'll admit the gun shots were distracting (as was the notion that I live down the street from someone who thinks it appropriate to greet the police with a shotgun), but ultimately they were no match for the thousands of "Giovanni Paolo" chanting Italians, who kept me riveted to my screen. I could write about the selection of the new pope and how I waited impatiently for the end of the conclave, even though I am not Catholic (though I know a few Catholics).
I could abandon religion and shoot-outs altogether and write about whether "Habemus Idiotam" is an appropriate way to introduce a head of state or about people who won't stop talking about Cancunian booze cruises and the people who encourage them. Or I could write about the dubious state of cleanliness at the Mongolian Grill I visited earlier today. Somehow it takes away from the stir-fried fun when you see what looks like drool splattered all over and presumably in the wells of the sauce bar and realize that someone expects you to eat from them.
I could write about how I went to a taping of LiveWire on Friday. Man, was that fun. That would be a good thing to write about. I got to see a Decembrist (who could not adore Colin Meloy after hearing the song of the vengeful mariner fortuitously stuck in the belly of a whale with the one man he wants to kill?) and John Wesley Harding/Wesley Stace there. I also saw them (by them I mean JWH AND Wesley Stace...they always travel together, like Siamese twins. I wonder if they ever just want some alone time...) at Wordstock and got them to sign my copy of Misfortune. That was a treat, especially since I used to go to JWH's concerts in the basement of McCabe's guitar shop in Santa Monica when I was a poor grad student (as opposed to a poor corporate drone). Just between you and me, they are a bit grayer than I remembered them, but they have aged well - most well indeed. (Editorial note: That must be read in the "most restless indeed" voice from Arcadia's Election Day. If you're not going to do that, well, then you should just skip over that last part, because it just won't be the same.)
I could write about how I briefly declared myself Tom Clancy in order to infiltrate the author welcome station at Wordstock. I am convinced that author swag kicks general public swag's ass, but have yet to confirm this, because apparently Tom Clancy doesn't generally show up wearing a skirt (or as a woman). Who knew? In my defense, it was a really nice skirt.
I also saw another LiveWire alumnus at Wordstock - Marc Acito. He was wearing the same ruffly, blue shirt he wore at LiveWire. This leads me to believe that he never changes clothes. Not ever. Every time I've seen him, he's had the blue shirt on. Having seen him twice now, I feel I've finally made a sound enough study upon which to base the no clothes changing contention. In fairness, he could just have a closet (and not just a little closet, but a big, walk-in closet) full of ruffly, blue shirts, so I may be doing Mr. Acito an injustice. I like to think he'd forgive me, though. There was one moment at LiveWire when our eyes met as he was yelling FAB-U-LOUS in the gayest voice ever. At that moment we understood each other; we made a connection. I think we can get past anything, Marc and I.
So, you see, I would write about all these things, but I'm just not in a very write-y kind of mood, which is strange, because I was in a write-y kind of mood earlier today when I couldn't get to my laptop. I guess that is the irony of fate.