Sometime’s I’m awakened in the middle of the night
by the clatter of a room service cart and I think back on Kitty.

Those summer evenings by the government lake,
talking about the paradox of multiple Santas
or how it felt to have your heart broken.

I still get a hollow feeling on Labor Day when the summer ends

and I remember how I would always refer to her boyfriends
as what’s-his-face, which was wrong of me and I’d like
to apologize to those guys right now, wherever they are:

No one deserves to be called what’s-his-face.

DavidBerman - “Classic Water”

Happy engagement

I have to say it one more time. I love this song so much. LOVE IT! so much. so so much. Am I the only one? Listento it with headphones on. Really loud. You’ll love it too.

Update - I’min there somewhere
Thereis only one word to describe Live 8. Hot. Terribly un-freaking-forgettably hot.Yes, I was criticized for wearing jeans, but this white boy does not favor the sensationof sunshine on his legs. I take the Sahara desert people approach. Do you see thosepeople running around in thongs and wife-beaters? No. They wear long nondescript robesbecause it keeps the evildoer ultraviolet rays off their bodies thus keeping themcool and calm. The only problem is that I was neither cool nor calm in jeans. I guessit really does have to be a robe and not acid washed jeans in order keep you cool.

Asidefrom the immense heat, I did have a good time. It was totally a learning experiencesince I rarely visit the ghetto. And lo how we visited the ghetto. We parkedat the Mann Music Center and expected to take a “shuttle” to the boulevard. What thecity failed to mention was that the “shuttle” was in fact a SEPTA bus and that buswent straight to the ghetto and dropped you off at the EL. Upon exiting the bus wewere greeted Hawaiian style, only subtract the pretty girls with leis and add un-prettygirls with amazingly insufficient clothing and ornate wigs. Before Live 8 I neverknew these women wore wigs. I always thought it was some type of hair weaving process,but rest assured I passed every wig shop in Philly. And I took notes. In case I’mlooking for a wig some day. Anyway, we got off the bus and headed for the “elevatedtrain”. Halfway through the journey I was wondering if I’d make it to Live 8 alive.To quote the great April Margera, it was “purgatory on wheels.” I can honestly saythat I was more comfortable on the Paris metro by myself not knowing a lick of Frenchthan on the Philly rails with my gang of suburbanites. (or more aptly gaggle ofsuburbanites).

Wefinally made it to our destination and the hilarity ensued. I expected security tobe tight, but all I observed was fatcity cops who couldn’t chase down a rolling doughnut if they had to. The girlsin attendance brought their booty (not the pirate kind) and the guys seemed overlyobsessed with how sideways their hat was. The atmosphere was surprisingly calmfor a concert of that magnitude, but I did run into my fair share of drunks. I guessthe bright side was that they were happy drunks. The kind that after they bump intoyou with their Rusted Roots Bouncin Round the Room style of dancing want to strikeup a conversation. No thank you, I like to listen to my Jay-Z in silence. And I don’tthink I saw one drunk there that was over twenty-one. I guess the kiddies raided theliquor cabinet for this one. I was more concerned with drinking pints of water formost of the day to keep from passing out from the aforementioned heat.

Wetried to get up to the stage and pedestrian traffic was moving great, but all of thesudden you’d hit a wall of people. Hot sweaty people that you couldn’t pay me to rubup against. I’m convinced to get there you’d have to show up at six AM or attack itfrom the side. They set up jumbotrons every fifty yards or so, so it wasn’t that bad.The screens were cool except that there was about a two second delay between the musicand the video. Or maybe the video was ahead of the music, I never did figure it out.My attention most of the time was focused on thisperson. (it by the way did a spirited coreographed dance and knew everyword to Destiny’s Child) And also couldn’t take my eyes off thisgirl and every other under-dressed hottie. We did find a nice spot under sometrees, so it was cool to just hang out for the day and listen to the music. And althoughthe gnome prefers to journey to far away places, heeven enjoyed the experience.

More Live8 pictures here.

Now playing: Natasha Bedingfield - These Words

I’m feelin kinda blue today. I’m kinda bummed out about this one thing, but I wouldn’t expect it to be such a big deal and ruin my whole mood. I just can’t get rid of that “oh shit” feeling. Maybe I just need some sleep. And today of all days I should be elated.

Have you ever had part of a song stuck in your head for years? You don’t know thewords, but the melody of the chorus or hook just sticks with you. Believe me, it willeventually drive you crazy when you can’t find the lyrics/artist/song name. The lasttime this happened to me I had Sheryl Crow - D’yer Mak’er stuck in my headfor a good two years. I found myself persistently switching through radio stationsjust hoping to hear it again. A few years passed and the damn song would still hauntme from time to time. I could hum one line, but that’s all I knew. You begin to questiontotal strangers if they can make out the tune, and just come off looking like a wacko.Anyway, you can’t imagine my joy when I finally heard the song on the radio. My questwas over. I could finally rest.

This was a few years ago, and since then I’ve picked up a new song to torture myselfwith. I’ve had this song stuck in my head since early 2004. It’s hard to explain though.I’d be doing something as simple as walking around the mall and I hear some musicoff in the distance, maybe from a radio, maybe TV. Either way, it would jog my memoryand now I’d have no more than five notes of this song stuck in my head. And believeme, a five note song is a really short song. And then imagine that shortsong stuck on repeat inside your head. And all you want to do is hear it. And youcan’t keep yourself from humming it. And you think please God let me hear that songso I can enjoy more than the three notes that have haunted me for the past year. Andhello, welcome to my own personal hell.

So finally last night I figured it all out. I was laying in my recliner watching AlanisMorissette’s acoustic show on VH1. This was at 2:30 in the morning, so needless tosay I fell asleep there with my headphones and VH1 on. 5:54 AM my eyes pop open andI have this song pumping in my ears over way-too-loud headphones. It took me a secondto figure out that I was still in front of the TV, but I knew that song.It was my song!! Finally I could rest.

So yeah, I should be happy today. I found my song and have been listening to it allday on repeat. But alas, I still can’t shake that feeling. Oh well. Tomorrow the sunwill rise. Here’s my song:

Now playing: NatashaBedingfield - These Words