Logs

"Gazing from my window to the streets below
On a freshly-fallen silent shroud of snow."

-- Simon and Garfunkel, "I Am A Rock"

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The two S&G quotations are coincidental; I haven't been listening to the old tunes lately. Picked up an Aqualung CD, though, along with albums by the Pet Shop Boys and Ben Harper. In the cold, new music is fresh and warm, like muffins for the ears. In the cold, songs you know can be stale and dismal, like the frigid wind, the sodden snow.

The white stuff came back to Cincy last night, and another half-foot is on the horizon, waiting for nightfall. Under the clouds and swirling mists, under the moonlight, my girlfriend and I will cross the river (in a car) and snare some crabs for our dinner (in Joe's Crab Shack). We tried for seafood on Saturday night, but speakers spilling "Cotton Eye Joe" and "YMCA," as well as a hour-and-a-half wait behind toasted, toasting Kentuckians, deterred us until tonight. Quietude is necessary for crab consumption.

Speaking of Kentucky, I hear that to the native folk (cue banjo), "Appalachia" is the name of the mountains, pronounced Apple-AY-shuh. The native folk themselves? Apple-Ashen. Or Apple-[H]atchin'.

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The ArtReach blog I started months ago for the Children's Theatre finally got a thumbs-up from the head office. See http://artreachcincinnati.blogspot.com/ for news on the road.

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Got a haircut today, too: Less hair means a colder head. Got to keep down with your headshots, you know... And incidentally, auditions in Chicago are on Saturday. Renting a car, grinding songs and monologues in the hallways, deep-dishing with Sharon on Friday night, and in general keeping warm in a cold, cold land. New music is on the docket, but old friends.