the rehabilitated blogger

The wicked stoned old witch of rock 'n roll, Marianne Faithful, is playing at this moment in this place. I've been accused of wanting to be the drummer for her band, an ambition I can't think of ever having consciously entertained. I once gave a cassette of her music to a TV newsanchor who tried to return it saying: "I don't like her attitude." Oh yes, Marianne has a lousy attitude.
I saw her biography in a bookstore but didn't buy it; she's one of these people you know pretty much as much as you need to know about without actually knowing it. Maybe the same can be said about me.

In other news I've had too much coffee and the DJ on WFPK goofed up and started playing the wrong song twice in a row. Maybe she was too excited because she was trying to play a new song by the excellent local band (the cream of Louisville's crop) My Morning Jacket. Anyway here I was excited about it myself, hanging on every note, and when the first vocal began I thought: "Wow, My Morning Jacket has really changed their style." But the then DJ cut in and said OOPS. Another song started, and once again I'm there, absolutely plugged in, and the vocal starts. "Oh, so My Morning Jacket has a female vocalist now --- oh, wait, that's Melissa Etheridge." The song stops, a third song comes on --- this time it sounds like the band whose new release I've been anticipating as much as I've ever anticipated a new release --- especially as they've put out a couple of weird CDs with B-sides or whatever. I guess CDs don't have B-sides so I don't know what to call it --- the kind of reject music.

All of which makes me think of Gwen's challenge to write about an anniversary. October 4th is the day My Morning Jacket's CD is due out, it is also the anniversary of the day I gave up drinking and the day I went back to drinking exactly eleven years later. I like this symmetry, though I have to say, while I'd love to be back on the sauce in a spectacular way, closing bars with zest and fervor, hitting the dance floors on the weekend in my leather mini-skirt and heels, the fact is I have wimped out. I can't drink anymore, a funny thing happened on the way to the cash bar, I realized I needed a cup of coffee instead. So while I give myself permission to drink,
while the taste of alcohol is not forbidden, three or four sips and I'm out of it. I don't know if there's a cure for this; I'm not really looking for one.

One final note: of course the MLA stuff on my ECE needs work, I knew it would. But apparently the content is OK. Maybe better than OK. Which is what I really wanted to hear. I honestly, time taken for blogging aside, worked harder on that thing than any academic project to date, including previous theses.

I apologize for my blog entry about brain-farts. I guess I had one myself.

---Harriet.