the rose of kiev

So Dave and I went to the Goo Goo Dolls/Counting Crows concert this past Friday. Johnny Rzeznik was beautiful and high; the band was lovely and lazy but I got to see Johnny and hear him talk in his state of highness ("Is this that sweet shit that tastes like baby aspirin and vodka?") so I was content. That and they played all of my favorite songs, if not as well as their albums. The Crows surpassed them in terms of genuinity and energy. The lead singer still has this perplexed mass of dreadlocks settled atop his skull. The last song they played is Dave's favorite of theirs and he swayed (gasp!) and sang along (DOUBLE GASP!!) with them without any encouraging prods from his girlfriend who actually enjoys big group settings. We were accompanied by Dave's two siblings, his 32-year-old brother Colin and mid-20-something sister Rina, making Dave the baby of the siblings. And what a bunch. Dave was positively Herculean when contrasted with his slightly built brother and sis...

I GOT MY LICENSE TODAY THAT IS ALL

I am listening to Jack Johnson but it's not a Jack Johnson kind of day. Jack Johnson is the kind of music that makes you shuffle rhythmically to the picking sounds of his guitar, the kind of music that makes you swing your hips a little with every step, the kind of music that when you ride your bike early on a warm sunny morning you weave back and forth across the road and relish the feel of cool air wooshing over your face and bringing you fully awake. Today has been grey skies all day with the smallest ongoing threat of rain and my body has rarely stirred from the "at rest" position, and here it is late afternoon and I have done absolutely nothing with myself. But the joy of listening to Jack on a non-Jack Johnson day is that it infects the day a little bit with what it should be, or at least brings up memories of Jack Johnson days you've had in the past. This is why I like Mr. Johnson so much. Double that, because Dave gave this cd to me and introduced me to his mu...

Months ago I submitted a couple of my poems to the creative writing paper at my college. My best and my babies. Opening my school email I finally received a polite return from the Spring Street paper. They said better luck next year.

She's 6 foot even and I'm five-three short. I have dark straight hair she has lighter nappy hair. Freckles are sprinkled across her cheekbones while I have 2 moles, one on my right thigh and one on my right shoulder. I'm two years her senior age-wise and one year her senior academics-wise. What in God's name could we possibly have in common? Sports and words. Do we play and write differently? Oh hell yeah. There are lightyears of difference. But over that span is a definete untouchable bond because more often than not we compliment each other. In sports she's the all-or-nothing player, who when she's on her game can spike the volleyball down the opposing team's gullet without even a chance at retaliation, or who can make that ball take off with flames licking its laces as it clears the fence with the sound of her bat still ringing in triumph. And when she's down and out, she's dangerous - a loose cannon is usually the best visual, loaded with power b...