"i kinda want to slay the dragon."
thanks for trying, angel.
i don't mean to be too sentimental about a tv show. then again, buffy and angel and spike and willow and xander and giles and wes and lorne and gunn and anya and the whole lot of them were wonderful. seriously. i understand that many fans started mourning these characters seasons ago, when things went downhill. i generally disagree with those fans. this season of angel may not have been among the best of eight seasons in the so-called buffyverse, but it was affecting.
even if it's cheap to bemoan television's lamer side(s), we might note that without joss whedon's shows, we're left with, oh, i don't know, (an aaron sorkin-less) west wing, a survivor that's consumed itself into ridiculous self-referentiality (yes, i'm lifting that from a slate column i'm too lazy to find), everybody loves some goofy slob with a gorgeous wife and overbearing parents, mtv=roadrulesrealworldchallengepimpmyridetrl, and reba. does e.r. even exist anymore? don't jump on me too hard -- i know there's the daily show, the best week ever, the office...
damn. i only meant to say i'll miss angel & co.
[fair warning, dear reader. what follows is another in the long list of "i'm tinkering with the look of the 'blog,' and i don't know what i'm doing" entries]
i'm tinkering with the look of the "blog," and i don't know what i'm doing. you and i both know that the new banner looks ridiculous, that i have no eye for design. i'm going to work on it though. i have ideas about the way things should look around here, but my halfhearted efforts to... er... execute that design fall short.
no apologies for the unabashed vanity, though. that picture of me Me ME! comes from the double r diner in twin peaks, washington. or, as the purists would have it, the mar-t cafe in snoqualmie falls, wa. or, as the locals would have it, twede's cafe.
look, names aren't important. what matters, here, is the fact that agent dale cooper had his coffee and cherry pie at the same place.
thanks, fritz, for the photographic artifact.
so, we walked down the driveway just now, flashlight in hand.
no less than fifty cicadas, crawling up trees, plants, fences, whatever. and we weren't really looking too carefully. when i realized i had one on my neck, i felt less than entirely complacent, but not too terribly freaked out. we watched a few working their way out of their exuviae to become adults.
next step, entomophagy (to the weak of stomach -- this means you, alianora -- DO NOT FOLLOW THAT LINK). perhaps the old bay-heavy maryland cicadas, or the wonderfully named "el chirper tacos."
this morning, in the shower, i looked up through the window and saw my first 17-year cicada.
say what you will about the thought of a million very large flying bugs for every acre, but i can't wait to turn the lights off, open the windows, and listen.
cicada singing was the sound of summer twilight when i was a boy, and it is a sound i have missed. i, for one, am happy that the seventeen years are up, and that the noise is on its way back.
good morning, brood x.
dear blog,
a couple of weeks ago, i ran the pike's peek 10k. my time was 47:09, hardly fast enough to snag any gold at athens this summer, but plenty quick for me. speaking of numbers, i used to smoke like thirty cigarettes a day. now i'm better.
natalie and i are totally down with the montgomery county road runners first time marathon training program. so far, the group runs have been nice, and the track workouts a welcome change. my only fear is that the "training program" sounds so cult-y. and returning participants (apparently, "first time" is interpreted loosely) get kind of glassy-eyed when they talk about "the program." and i just feel so driven to use "quotation marks" when i talk about it.
nat and i saw the raveonettes last night at the black cat. they're terrific, and they put on a mean rock show. we also swooned over their immediate opener, the rogers sisters. here's the thing, though... the antepenultimate act, the whips, suck. we saw them open for el vez a coupla years ago. how the f*ck do they get booked? twice? if any reader has seen them, if any reader likes them, please please explain. open my ears. 'cause i think they blow. and their lead singer will most certainly win the self-important medal someday. sheesh.
ok. enough about the bad music.
we bought two records today. franz ferdinand's self-titled magnum opus, and loretta lynn's (jack white produced-) van lear rose. the former is as perfect as we already knew it would be. (seriously, bri took us to see franz for a reason). the latter just breaks my heart, it's so good, sugar.
well, blog, i think that's about everything for now. i'm sure i'll write more soon. you know me... wink.
aw shucks,
dave