Enjoying a surprise holiday. Spent the entire morning listening to KCRW: Morning Becomes Eclectic. Postal Service's laid back "District Sleeps Alone Tonight" is thoughtful, a drunken afterglow. Damien Rice, well, I don't know why I even listened to him. He's great, but really, too painful. Especially after a night of heavy drinking and specially stupid boys. "Glass Blower's Daughter" is still like being gutted by an army of Hirogens. Thanks for the dissection, I'm all see-through skin now. But Liz Phair. Oh wow. "Little Digger" and "Divorce Song." She's not exactly great live, but her guitar playing is superb; her singing delicate and high and a little unsteady. The unsteadiness, though, works, because her words are in contrast precise, the emotion clear-cut.
"Tell me just what the hell is a lover supposed to do, I got the wrong reaction."
It's just wrong. I sent a carefully constructed text message that was a little silly, a little needy, a little distant, and a little loving. All I got was: "What happened to you?"
Predictably, I turned to a fat, juicy burger for comfort. A little salty. Ultimately dependable.