David Gray, "Kathleen"

This was an early birthday present - David Gray at The Fox in late June.

Dear PenMen: Contemplations on Everyonceinawhile and Other Moments in Time

Seeing as how we might, at this point, be the only ones reading each other's blogs, I figured it was okay to directly address the two of you. Plus, I had this feeling of wanting to write, but what? And then I thought I could just write what I would tell Pen and M.

It's raining here right now, and while soothing, I find this greatly disappointing because I need to mow my lawn. I was all geared up for it, too: The First Mowing. But I know if I actually do that after the torrential rain (accompanied by copious thunder and lightning) that I will have wet grass stuck to my ankles and big clumps of grass clippings to dig out of the bag. That seems like not the experience to have for The First Mowing, and so I will think of my ever-growing lawn as a verdant carpet instead of an overgrown grass pouf to ease my conscience.

I finished reading this book last night that was so good - one of my indulgently trashy romance novels. And sometimes, they're just like reading candy - totally empty calories that go in and pass through with no real nutritional value. But everyonceinawhile, I find one that's more like...designer candy. Still no real nutritional value, but something extra luxurious about the indulgent experience. I think it could have to do with the fact that Mom and Dad went to see Anna, and I was blissfully alone and slept on the couch when I got home and then woke up and read and read and read - skipping dinner - until I finished. That's the kind of reading one needs to do everyonceinawhile to really fortify the soul.

Yesterday was a fantastical, magical day at work. Everyonceinawhile, a very great while in fact, the stars align in this way that you get exactly what you work so hard for the other 3oo-some-odd days of the year. To get a story in the ACRONYM Today is something of a Holy Grail of PR. And then, to find out later that the pitch you made to a certain other nationally renowned publication like FOUR-BES, actually got picked up, too? Well, it just doesn't get any better than that. Except that it happened to be my three-year anniversary with the company, and The Linguista and I went to my favorite Mexican restaurant and drank frozen margaritas at lunch.

The Exotic is getting so close to her due date, and it's starting to make me a bit sad. What will I do without her calming presence in the office? She does yoga so I don't have to, and she offers me zen-by-proxy when I need it. I think I will feel spectacularly off when she's on maternity leave.

I am, however, excited about the next couple of months, which are rife with the kind of adventures I never have. On Monday is David Gray/Ray LaMontagne, the dreamiest of dream concerts. I'm taking one of the Big City interns with me, and it will be delight. And then we will enter the string of weeks from September to October when I have something all the time rather than everyonceinawhile to keep me occupied. Like a trip to D.C.! Mountain Day! Dallas to see Joel McHale with my Texas Twin in our Texas office! Valle Crucis! Company retreat! Oh my! Plus there are two volunteer events on my calendar in September and one in October, plus dinners and drinks with friends (yes! friends!). At times like these, I feel like...maybe I'm doing a better job than I think of carpe diem and not letting the fact that I'm not exactly where I want to be on The Great Life Continuum keep me from doing things that make this place on it so much better.

Despite the rain, I think it's time to pack the Rav and take a load over to My House where I will clean the bathrooms and dress them nicely with the bathmats and matching towel sets I purchased last week. And then I will stand back and contemplate that I could actually be moving soon in a way that is good and comfortable. And then I might be able to think about new companions for my sad heart - still so hard to let go of Kudzu, but so clear to me that I need that comfort from the four-legged varietal.

Wishing you both everyonceinawhile days.

xo,
Ash

The Word's Goodbye, But I Can't Say It

I've been a (raving) David Gray fan for over 10 years now. It all started for me like it did for most of us on this side of the pond when White Ladder exploded on the American scene with "Babylon." But over the years, I discovered the treasure-trove of pre-Ladder work, from Flesh and A Century Ends to Sell, Sell, Sell and my beloved Lost Songs. Plus, Gray put out three studio albums after Ladder.

Even more than Coldplay, David Gray has been the soundtrack of my life over the last decade. Albums and songs surged to the forefront at varying times with the words and music crafted for highs and lows. For love and lack thereof. For times when in the place "where we can shine" to the place "where the eye don't see no color." Like a cheap therapist, David Gray has soothed my soul on many occasions - long, desolate, never-ending car rides, stricken with grief, heartbroken.

And just like at the Coldplay concert, I heard one of his songs for the first time - from just four rows away from the one and only David Gray. I had thought it would be "This Year's Love" that would bring tears to my eyes or when he sang "As I'm Leaving." But instead, I was surprised when the song "Freedom" went right through my soul. And as I listened to it over and over (and over) again since then, what wasn't surprising was that it was a song for right now. For this state I'm in. For this place I live.

Take your eyes off me
There's nothing here to see
Just trying to keep my head together
And as we make our vow
Let us remember how
There's nothing good that lasts forever

Time out on the running boards
We're running
Through a world that lost its meaning
Trying to find a way to love
This running
Ain't no kind of freedom

Feel the touch of grief
You stand in disbelief
Can steal the earth from right beneath you
And falling in so far
They know just where you are
Yeah, but there ain't no way to reach you

***
It's time to clean these boots
Fold up these parachutes
The word's goodbye, but I can't say it
The end is close at hand
I think we understand
There ain't no use trying to delay it

***
Fasten on my mask
I'm bending to the task
I know this work is never finished
But if I close my eyes
I can still see you dancing
Laughing loud and undiminished

I love the last line of the song, the bittersweet hope of knowing that I will be able to close my eyes and see Kudzu undiminished - dancing across the floor on small, sure feet, eyes alight with love and mischief.

Thank you, David Gray, for the 497th reason that a world without your music would be less bearable.

Rusty

Tonight, I logged in to the Jungle for the first time in ages. I suppose I've checked into the dashboard a couple of times over the last two-and-a-half months, but, to be honest, I haven't really had words. I haven't had words or time or both, or maybe the chemistry to grease the wheels between thoughts and expression. For whatever reason, I took an unintended hiatus.

At times, this accidental absence has felt like a release from responsibility. But at this point, the silence is deafening. The words are clogging my synapses; it's difficult to even know what to say.

My first impulse was to try and write everything...try to somehow recapture the lost time. Instead, I'm going to oil up the brainwaves and just let it all tumble out. And if there's something you want to know more about - if any of you are still out there - I'll be happy to expound upon it. So here's a little of what you've missed...and by the way, it's good to be back.

* Third blogiversary
* Winning lottery ticket - $35
* Harry Potter & the Half-Blood Prince
* The death of Michael Jackson
* 30
* New-found affinity for goat cheese
* Monet's water lilies * Birthday shoes
* Dillon's 2 1/2 birthday party
* House hunt with renewed vigor
* Big new account at work
* Trip to Ohio and reunion with the one and only Kim Shable
* Nearing 8 months with The Barrister
* Introduction to Beach Ball Rodeo
* Client placement in an in-flight magazine (the ungetable get)
* Reese sitting up
* A terrible tragedy
* The rise of tweeting
* Frequent travel to the Big City office
* New tripod
* A month of physical therapy for my continued back problems
* Blackberry cobbler
* Weight gain
* Death Cab for Cutie concert
* Death of the Hard Drive
* Tommy's 30th birthday party
* Growing volunteer group
* Seeing Penelope & Andi
* Meeting The Ice Cream Man
* Discovery of The Furminator
* Received a hand-painted lizard from the Dilly Monster
* Laughed, loudly, as always
* Made mistakes, as always
* Lived

The Thing Is...

I find myself saying this phrase a lot when telling friends and acquaintances about the new (dare I say it?) relationship with The Barrister to preface every item in the litany of unexpected good things about our new "us." And while there isn't really just one thing, the thing is...

...I have a dedicated pair of PJ pants at his apartment for whenever I just need an elastic waistband...

...he's up for whatever I want to do - like feed my new Death Cab for Cutie obsession with tickets to their May show at The Fox...

...he played dominoes with Justin and Eva even though he doesn't like games...

...I have a key...

...we talk about...everything. And whether it's good or it's bad, we just manage to sift through every issue without yelling or getting angry or playing the blame game...

...flowers! I mean, flowers!...

...we go out for sushi, debate about whether to order another roll and decide to get Chick-fil-A milkshakes instead...

...he likes to drive and so he picks me up and chauffeurs me around, and I love it...

...even when I'm wearing my glasses, he pronounces me 'adorable'...

...he read my thesis, and he thought it was good. And he's not the type to blow sunshine...

...he loves House...

...I'm happy...maybe that's it. Maybe that is the thing.

Cashthrax: A Metalgrass Band

I don't confess to be musical in any sort of way other than liking to listen to it. But I do know a little bit about bluegrass - how it generally sounds, the kind of instruments that are involved, the harmonies. Enough to know that the show I went to Friday night featured a band that was decidedly not bluegrass.

While we were subjected to the sounds of The Unknown Band, I made a few observations, puzzled together this mysterious musical performance and came up with this: the band came together with two sets of brothers - one in each pair devoted to classic bluegrass and their counterparts equally passionate about heavy metal. But rather than be brothers divided, they decided to meld their incongruous loves into a band of heretofore unknown composition: the metalgrass band.

The metalheads brought their pounding drums and their electric guitar riffs and the grassroots brought their upright bass and their banjo and then they found the missing ingredient: the pretty-boy frontman who could hunch over a mandolin but never quite make noise with it. And this motley crew became Cashthrax, an absolute abomination to both ends of the spectrum.

And poor Jason and me were stuck...for thirty minutes, listening to them bang and wail in a fashion that was a glaring insult to all things bluegrass and a wad of spit in the eye to all things metal. But they labored on, picking and plucking in their cowboy boots and their Converse and their long Amish beards and sang something that was neither identifiable nor enjoyable.

And then the headliner appeared with the proper instruments and harmonies and vocals and sounds and words. The world improved greatly for a brief moment...and then tilted on its axis in a haze of white-boy pain and mid-life clogging. A cluster of frat-boy redneck types moved into the middle of the open floor - one wearing a camoflauge cap, another a Member's Only jacket - and began what can only be characterized as a rhythmless white-boy shuffle. They were soon joined by a 40ish or so woman in a dress so ugly, it pained me. No. Seriously. This dress - this boxy black and camel dress - hurt me. And it hurt me even more when I noticed her hair was held in place by a small pink terrycloth scrunchie. She took to the floor in her thick suntan-colored pantyhose (shoes kicked to the side) and clogged the dickens out of that concrete floor. And when she wasn't clogging, she was to the side with her decidedly more stylish friend (although Jason insisted she didn't score that many extra points) who seemed to be the girlfriend of a hip Atown townie who was so stoic and immobile, I would've thought him dead. But it was his friend - the sometimes sax player (?) - who was the attraction for the clogger. And while stylish friend (whose name I decided was Willow) tried to motivate her catatonic beau to move things along, the sax player and the clogger had intermittent awkward conversations leaned across the impassive zombie while Willow stroked his neck. And on top of that, we were fascinated by the incredibly bad date that was happening stage left, cringing at the body language and counting the guy's trips to the bar for another beer. Drink til she's cute!

All that said, the band was rather enjoyable. That is until they descended from the stage into the mob of mutants and continued playing and the mutants started shouting incomprehensibly. That's I turned to Jason and said, "Let's go now." And we walked out into the cold and hoped that whatever fissure had opened up in the universe behind us had closed - and hopefully taken that hideous dress with it.

Confession

In my eagerness to have the house to myself, I just effectively "hustled" my parents out the door.

Me, The Professor and The Come to Jesus

Some of you have been inquiring about the status of The Professor, considering my mention of a less-than-stellar date with Mississippi and his absence from the tags on posts about the Coldplay concert. The former can be attributed to my determination to keep my options open - I just got back in the saddle, so it seems awfully soon to be narrowing down the field of play. The second can be attributed to my need to keep Coldplay untainted by my flailing dating life.

It wasn't so easy in actuality to separate "The Scientist" and The Professor, since our journey to, enjoyment of, and return from the concert put us together for a solid eight-hour stint. We managed to avoid the heavy stuff until the return trip...but there was no denying it was time for a talk - for each of us to lay out our case for Defining the Status.

He kicked it off by lamenting my distant demeanor and his inability to crack through my shell.

I countered with the well-known fact that three out of the past five weekends, he's spent with his ex-girlfriend (if you count the weekends bookending the entire week she visited). And on that latest jaunt into the past relationship, he attended a Halloween party dressed as an angel - to counter her devil costume. Score one point for me.

But he persisted and explained (as best he could) the tangled and undefined nature of the broken-up-but-friends-not-dating-but-special-relationship situation. If you can deconstruct that one for me, I'll give you a dollar.

And then I explained that this crazy web he's weaving doesn't make me want to let my guard down. Score another point for me.

Then we moved into the P-phase of the discussion in which he used the word "priorities" a lot. I mean. A. Lot. As in, he would really like to be a higher one of mine. (Please, see counter argument numero uno in which I cite his involvement with The Ex.) We went tit for tat for a bit, with him shooting out needs like Han Solo's blaster gun and me deflecting them at every turn with my light sabre.

By that time, we had circled one another quite exhaustingly in a verbal endgame, and we were rolling into the driveway. This provoked a round of conversation in which there existed in his tone a subtle note of disdain for my current living situation that was tempered with (excessive) praise for the closeness of my family and punctuated with The Declaration of Independence: "I just want to make sure you know that I'm dating you and not your family."

In that moment, at 1:30 a.m., hoarse and overwrought from three hours of screaming and the hour of verbal sparring, I felt approximately one quart of acid dump into my stomach, a gallon of ice water pour through my veins, and experienced instantaneous paralysis.

At which, The Professor knew he'd stepped in It. He tried to retract, backtrack, strike the previous statement from the record. Especially after I said, "My family...is non-negotiable."

In the end, it was time to get out of the car, weary, bewildered and bleary-eyed...to bid him adieu on good terms for having bought such amazing seats, and to take his arguments to the jury room with me.

So far, the jury seems to be voting in my favor, pondering holding The Professor in contempt of court, and finding him guilty of being unsuitable for long-term dating. If said verdict is returned...what will the punishment be? Life...in the Friend Zone.

Coldplay: A History, Next Chapter

Fifty yards away from the stage, you can see Chris Martin life-sized...like when he runs out on stage during the first encore to pound on the keyboard, the jumbo-tron showing the piano hammers tripping against the strings, and he croons the opening line of "Politik." Or when he raises his arms during "Violet Hill," outlined against the backscreen, holding his guitar aloft over his head.

And then there is the acoustic version of "The Scientist" from this odd little side stage up in the first balcony. Or "Fix You" when the lights go down and the whole stage is blue. Or the piano version of "Hardest Part" that makes you hear the song for the very first time.

But oddly, the best part isn't when you can see Chris Martin. It's when he's obscured totally...when, during "Lovers in Japan," blowers in the overhead light racks shoot out thousands and thousands of little paper butterflies. In an instant, the air is filled with tiny fluttering wings. The band plays, Chris Martin jumps around and sings, and happiness rains down on whispering wings.

_____
Life In Technicolor
Violet Hill
Clocks
In My Place
Speed Of Sound
Cemeteries Of London
Chinese Sleep Chant
42
Fix You
Strawberry Swing
God Put A Smile Upon Your Face (techno version)
Talk (techno version)
The Hardest Part (piano - Chris. dedicated to Jennifer Hudson)
Postcards From Far Away (piano instrumental)
Viva La Vida
Lost!
The Scientist (acoustic)
Death Will Never Conquer (acoustic - Will singing)
Viva La Vida (remix interlude)
------
Politik
Lovers In Japan
Death And All His Friends
-------
Yellow
The Escapist (outro)

Coldplay: A Personal History

"Spies" - First year of grad school. The tiny bedroom in the Abbott's Run apartments. Listening to Parachutes while getting ready for Clyde's class. Dragging out of bed to head downtown to the little brick office on Princess. "Spies come out of the water..." always makes me think of the light through that second floor window, the view of the dumpster, Kim Shable's patio, and the first slight easing of that summer's torrid heat when October arrived.

"Clocks" - I used to travel between Wilmywood and Charlottesville, VA to see Mike when he was in grad school at UVA. The five-hour drive was pretty brutal - an endless stretch of asphalt with very little to look at until you got on I-64 in Richmond and headed into the foothill country toward the college town. I can remember Sunday afternoons, getting on the I-64/I-95 interchange with the windows down and the piano unfolding into the sinking sun, the wind whipping my hair. "Home, home, where I wanted to go..." and wondering exactly where "home" was anymore.

"Fix You" - "And the tears come streaming down your face when you lose something you cannot replace." I sobbed relentlessly over these words as I turned out of the drive at Grace Street for the last time. I was losing something - Wilmywood, my first (real) apartment, my hard-won independence. I let go and jumped into the unknown, letting the tears come, letting "the lights guide [me] home."

"42" - The first time I heard this song, it gave me chills. "Those who are dead are not dead, they're just living in my head. And since I fell for that spell, I am living there as well." What an apt description of the last eight months in the aftermath of Ronnie's death...the retreat into my head where the dead live, where it's the safest and most excruciating place to me. Inside my head, I'm insulated and tortured by all that's there.

And tomorrow, I'll add another memory to my list...

Viva La Vida!!!

Um, The Professor totally just bought us floor seats to see Coldplay at Philips Arena on November 5.

Floor. Seats. Section 5. Center. I mean. Floor!!! Seats!!!

Please, please, please, please, Chris Martin, play "Fix You."

(That totally earned him a blog tag.)

The -ings of the Last Week

* Getting my hair cut - my favorite thing - which involved talking to my stylist about the line dancing craze of the early 90s

* Attending the farewell show of The Rockstar's band at the 40 Watt. He's moving to Barcelona to pursue his music. And I am sad.

* Putting together a photo book of San Francisco on Shutterfly. It's so awesome, I can't stop looking at it.

* Meeting up with my dear Jenny Ray and her husband Nick for drinks on Friday night. She got to see the aforementioned red shoes, and we caught up on all sorts of things - like hugs!

* Winning my first account for the firm on Thursday. Hooray!

* Enjoying lunches with my parents while Dad spent the rest of the week at home recovering.

* Missing Dillon. I didn't get to see him Father's Day weekend in all the hospital madness.

* Catching up on blogs.

* Sorting through old photos - Jenn, I found some oldies, but goodies. Like your college graduation party?

* Taking many, many photographs to complete the photo game. 20 photos down and six to go.

* Shopping too much - I am enacting a moratorium on new clothing purchases.

* Thinking. A lot. About life and love and the pursuit of happiness.

* Gaining perspective on the here and now.

This is a List

"This is a list of the things I should've been but I'm not. This is a list of the things I should've seen but I'm not seeing...So won't you please look at me?" --Adam Duritz, "Cowboys"

Should've Been
* More forgiving

* Willing to say the words that were on the tip of my tongue when I wondered if I should say them

* Able to cross a room, smile charmingly at a perfect stranger

* An author

* Comfortable with the unknown

* British

Should've Seen
* Hyde Park

* Last full moon

* Threads coming together, woven from the past forward to the present

* How different love is for different people

* David Gray live in concert

* Me for me

I Heart John Mayer, Part 2

A couple of photos from Mayer's official site of the Philips Arena show. I love black and white photos, so I couldn't resist snagging these. The one of the left is definitely from the "keep us where the light is moment" during "Gravity." Can't be sure when the right one is, though I'd wager that is was one of the slower guitar solos, so maybe "Dreaming with a Broken Heart." Either way, at this point, I've relapsed into a full-blown case of Mayerholism.

I Heart John Mayer

In the dark arena, John Mayer walked to the microphone and said, "My name is John Mayer. I was born in Bridgeport, Connecticut. My music was born in Atlanta, Georgia." The lights went up, and the band launched into "Why Georgia." This moment launched my love for John Mayer into full-blown euphoria.

He really built a lot of great guitar solos into the new songs, like "Vultures" and "Belief." The jumbo-tron shots of his fingers moving over the frets were astounding, and it seemed that he was trying to see who among his fan base would get a thrill out of his well-developed guitar chops. He purposefully (I think) stayed away from "Your Body is a Wonderland" and other softer hits. "Belief" was actually my surprise of the night - I like the song, but the performance made it come alive. And when he closed with "Gravity," man, he rocked it. He and the band jammed, really working the song over.

I thought his voice sounded better last night than the last time I saw him live. He made some of his bizarre faces, but I thought he'd cut down on some of the mouth contortion that overly affected his singing. Particularly "Heart of Life," he sang cleanly and simply. And for a moment, I remembered when this album came out, and I couldn't stop listening to it, and I blogged about listening to this CD on the drive home, and my heart ached for Wilmywood and all that I'd left behind. So much so that I was transported for a moment back to the fall, back to MLK, and I watered up a little bit before returning to my body in Philips Arena.

The entire concert had me amped, but the encore for the show was what made the price of the ticket all worth it for me. "Slow Dancing in a Burning Room" acoustic with three-part harmony. Absolutely gorgeous. And then, the moment where me and Johnny went one on one. Where he looked into my soul and knew the song I most wanted to hear. Sitting alone on a stool under a white spotlight he simply said, "This is the first song I ever wrote." And started playing "Comfortable." From his EP Inside Wants Out. I never thought I'd hear him play it, and certainly not acoustic. It was haunting and wonderful and the only moment that I totally girled out on my brother and squealed.

As if that wasn't enough, he started playing "Georgia on My Mind" while the band reassembled, joined him, and then somehow turned it into "I'm Gonna Find Another You." And as I said to Justin, "Now that's an encore."

Set List
Why Georgia
No Such Thing
I Don't Trust Myself (With Loving You)
Vultures
Covered in Rain
Bigger Than My Body
Belief
Dreaming With A Broken Heart
I Don't Need No Doctor
The Heart of Life
Waiting on the World to Change
Gravity

-- encore --
Slow Dancing (acoustic)
Comfortable (acoustic)
I'm Gonna Find Another You

Meee-ow

A week from Sunday, John. I'm coming to get you.
Also, loved your post on the arrest at your concert last week.

Johnny's new Gap ad, photographed by Annie Lebovitz

Dear John Letter (Part 2)

Dear John,
I know we've had our ups and downs in the past few months. First there was your sudden metamorphosis into Marc Anthony's double. And then you started dating Jessica Simpson. I'm still not quite over that. Just ask the folks at work - it is not an approved topic for lunch conversation. But in the end, I guess if you're happy, that's good. Just please, please, for the love of music, do not record a duet with her.

Anyway, I just wanted to let you know, Sunday, August 5, Philips Arena, Atlanta, GA...I'll be there. I'll be in the back, screaming my head off, acting like I'm 15 instead of almost twice that. And I'll still love you, John. Just one request - "Stop This Train", will ya? Thanks so much.

XO,
Ash

Tori-licious

Tori Amos is releasing her 9th studio album this May. American Doll Posse will hit stores May 1 and Amos will launch a major world tour later that month. I haven't seen Tori in concert since the Choirgirl Hotel tour, Chastain Park Amphitheatre, circa 1998. I think I might have to mark my calendar for a night with her and the faeries. Based on this promo photo, one can only guess what to expect from the new album.