Sunday

It's been a relatively uneventful week, but I think I'll make note here of a few relatively un-noteworthy things.

-I've been given the nickname "Grandpa Brad," from my affinity for sweater vests and whiskey.

-I'm developing a little crush on Ted Hughes.  His poetry never really jumped at me before, but I found some while wandering through the library here, and it's amazing.  They're just these immense, sensual, formally exquisite, ominous, mucky poems that kick my ass.

-I went to an art show opening last night, for a piece called the17.  Here's a quick breakdown of the events.  Me and 30ish other people were herded into a room with all of the lights off, and the "artist" would say something like, "You're all 70 years old, and I want you to sing this note," he hits a note on the piano, "trying to sing it with the wisdom of your years."  Everybody then sang that note for four minutes straight.  This was recorded.  We repeated this process with different motivations and notes about four more times.  He then played all 5 takes back to us simultaneously at a very loud volume.

There was free beer.

-Going to see Beckett's Waiting for Godot on Wednesday night.  That should kick ass.

-I've been feeling pretty melancholy lately, for a variety of reasons.  Homesick, I guess.  Oh well.

-Decided to do the vegetarian thing again.  That is, be one.  Not date one.

Cheers, folks.