I don't actually have much to say today. It's entirely too lovely to be sitting inside the house pecking away at this wee keyboard. I've been puttering around the house cleaning like a madwoman in expectation of a dear friend coming to visit this coming weekend. One wouldn't want a house guest (no matter how dear) to discover a cobweb in the hallway or a pair of knickers hiding behind the armoire. Whilst doing all this corner probing house cleaning I've been listening to Andrew Bird-whom if you haven't discovered yet is one of my most favorite performers of this and the last century (which is saying a hell of a lot).
I had the distinct pleasure of FINALLY seeing him live this week at the Variety Playhouse in Atlanta. It seems a bit like destiny that I should see him exactly one year and seven months after the accident that kept me from seeing him when last he performed in town. He was at Eyedrum then, which would have given me closer proximity to his tasty physical presence, so its probably better that I missed it. I'm pretty sure I'd have simply swooned at his feet once he set into whistling or plucking pizzicato on his violin. Lord, I'm getting the vapors just thinking of it.
Anywhoo-I'm off to find the smelling salts. I wish I could attach a file here and I'd give you lots of free MP3's-but I suppose Blogger.com is probably onto us.
Just go buy it. NOW. You'll thank me.
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