...everyone's a ball of clay / we sculpt each other into shapes / desperately trying to make / the one who fits our empty space / it's temporary and manmade / like little shots of Novacaine....
I have a new crush. This should not be a surprise.
Short story: quirky musicians.
But you want the long story, right?
That's what I thought.
We leave the bar, so exhausted and elated that the Crime Scene tape across the next block fails to do more than arouse momentary bemusement. I re-learn the clutch on the Subaru.
Channing and Quinn are delightful, friendly, chatty and interested in us, as well as charming. YoungEv and I debate adjectives.
"Cute," he decides.
"Adorable," I argue.
"No, they ARE cute," he says. I wave impatiently, with both hands.
"BEYOND cute," I say.
"Oh," he says, "you're raising my...?"
"Right, I see your cute and I raise you an adorable."
Fuzzy ignores us and continues sketching.
My concern that I won't recognize Acacia Sears out of context is unfounded. I can't describe her, but I always recognize her. She's grown so lovely, and rocks so hard, I am in awe.
The family has gathered at Joe Squared for reputedly fabulous pizza, drinks and music. YoungEv will join us in a while. When the pizza arrives, we enjoy it, but are slightly disappointed, as the kids and I have very recently been impressed by pizza at Iggie's, which quite honestly I liked better.
It's Wednesday, and Ellen Cherry is playing live at The Electric Maid in Tacoma Park. Wednesday is beside me, worried that this concert will be crowded or boring or both. She makes me find a different parking space, as she thinks the one I've chosen is sketchy and likely to garner us a ticket
As we open the door to the venue, I spot Ellen relaxed on a sofa. She hops up with a big grin and an expression of recognition and comes over to greet us. I'm amazed that Ellen recognizes my face- we met one time. She doesn’t remember where… but I say 'poetry', and she says, "Oh, yes, Cliff Lynn, he's back from Afghanistan now!"
One of the musician fellows brings in beer, offers to the room in general, and ends up walking 'round and passing them out to each person individually. I realize only later that this is Quinn, the rhythm/drum/whispering half of Channing and Quinn.
As Channing and Quinn begin their set, Ellen slips out. She has been so sweet to Wednesday, signing her CD, and writing a personalized message on it as well. Wednesday and I are charmed.
Wednesday holds her sketch book all evening, not opening it at all, just hugging it to her, totally charmed by the indie-folk-accousticats.
(Channing and Quinn; The Corners of My Mouth)