I saw Ani Difranco tonight at the Scottish Rite Auditorium. Say what you will about folk music, (as I often have) but I really enjoyed the show. Her guitar style and her lyrics are amazing, especially live. I admit, there was probably quite a bit that went right over my head. I'm not a die-hard fan like so many other people in the room. The amazing thing is how her popularity is based almost solely on word of mouth. It works, too. Her audiences are devoted to her. There were people from all over the state here for the show despite the worst road conditions so far this year. The reason I went, despite being a suburban white male with no piercings or tattoos and two functional and supportive parents, is that I really like her lyrics. I think she's a poet on par with Allen Ginsberg, and probably better than Eric Drooker. Here's a sample that stuck with me tonight:

"When they said he could walk on water
what it sounds like to me is he could float like a butterfly
and sting like a bee
literal people are scary man
literal people scare me
out there trying to rid the world of it's poetry
while getting it wrong fundamentally
now in the church of 'look it says right here, see?"

And

"Art is why I get up in the morning, but my definition ends there. Ya know it doesn't seem fair that I am living for something I can't even define."

To get the full effect, you have to hear it in her voice. The latter quotation sums up much of my art education, and it's also the reason most artist types you see are always so spacey. They don't really know what they're doing, but the art consumes their life. Speaking of which, I noted tonight that there were guys in the audience with longer hair than mine, and women with shorter hair. I felt weird being one of the more "mainstream" people there.

The weather outside is warmer than last week. There's a term for this weather that has always struck me as funny: "warm enough to snow." It warmed up to a comfortable freeze a couple days ago and the snow hasn't let up since. There are snow drifts out there larger than my brother's run-on sentences. (shameless plug- read his blog) Driving in the snow is less like driving a car and more like a boat.

I was shelving books at work today and I noticed an elderly gentleman sitting in a chair near the cafe with a book open in his lap. He held the book loosely, though, and his head was tucked low in his chest, eyes closed. I wasn't sure how to react to this. On the one hand, it was a quiet morning and old people are prone to sleeping at feline intervals (exempli gratia, Grandpa Simpson). On the other hand, I'd rather not have a segment of the greatest generation clocking out of this mortal coil in the middle of the store. I mean, what do you do? I could mix up an emergency espresso de cardiac in the cafe to get his heart pumping again a la the OD scene in Pulp Fiction. I could also put a note in his pocket stating "do not resuscitate", and then conveniently excuse myself for a 15 minute break when the paramedics arrive. That'd make 'em think. Ultimately it was a moot point when he woke up a few minutes later and shuffled out of the store. What a pleasant way to go, though- sitting in a bookstore with nothing better to do. It's better than Vitto Corleone got, at least.

The rest of the day was similarly uneventful, but with nothing else worth expounding on. I bought Mule Variations by Tom Waits yesterday and I'm quite happy with my (riaa-free) purchase. Also, go check out my brother's blog in the links column. He's the best writer I know. He's been editing nearly everything I've ever written on-line since we had Prodigy back in the day, so his grammar is gospel and I'll fight anyone bare-knuckle who disagrees.

I've recently learned through short conversations with a couple of managers that, due to financial constraints, I may not have a job after the next week. At least, not a book selling job. The head manager offered me a part time job in the cafe, but I'm not sure I want to do that. It'd be nice to keep the job and the discount, and I like my co-workers, but the cafe is crazy sometimes.

I haven't heard anything on the website job yet. I damn well better at least get the common courtesy of a rejection letter. ILM and Blizzard were kind enough to mail nice looking post cards across the country to shoot me down, so a quick note from two miles away isn't asking too much. I need money to start grad school or I wouldn't worry so much about maintaining cashflow. Failing that, maybe I ought to send my application to Bin-Laden. His current camera operator can't seem to figure out the intricacies of a tripod, so I figure I could be a valuable asset if I weren't such a gleaming example of the great white satan of the west.

When the weather warms up again I hope to be able to venture outside to find something to blog about. I fear I've become rather dull, as evidenced by my lack of quality blogging for the past month or so.

I hadn't planned on posting tonight, as I usually don't see anything blogworthy at work. Usually. Today, I saw something that both amazed and astounded me. I was covering for a manager in the music department while he went to send a fax in the office. I helped a woman find and purchase Johnny Cash's last album, which she politely requested I open for her. This is perfectly reasonable, but I have trouble with CD packaging too. (if anyone is still reading this, I swear I have a point) I got the cellophane off and proceeded to pick away at the adhesive seal on the top of the case when the manager came back and said that he knew a trick to get it open. Pay attention here, this is amazing. He popped the front part off at the bottom, folded it up and over the CD, and peeled the sticker off that way. It took all of two seconds! Remember this technique, everybody. It's how Harry Houdini probably opened his phonograph records.

I was perusing the computer search program at work today and I happened upon an exciting bit of news. A book about the Smashing Pumpkins will be published next August, titled Smashing Pumpkins: Tales of a Scorched Earth. The ISBN is 1900924684, if anybody needs that. It's kind of an odd subtitle, really. "Tales of a Scorched Earth" is their heaviest, fastest song, with something like 40-50 different guitars all going at once. It's nuts.

Given that the band had such a diverse sound through the years, I would think that they could've picked a better title. "The Friends and Enemies of Modern Music" is a pretty good title, even though it's already used as a title of two different bootleg collections. What about "Bleed in Your Own Light", the first line from "Rocket"? Maybe just simply, "Rawk."

I wonder how much research is going into this book. Much can be gleaned from reading old interviews with the band, but they weren't always very forthcoming. This was because they were usually tired, wasted, arguing, depressed, and stubbornly resistant to ever giving straight answers. I hope the author (Amy Hanson) is a fan and a scholar. If she never mentions June I'll be sorely disappointed.

I turned in an application to work on the SACS website today. Open a tab and look at it here. I don't feel the need to mess with the layout, but I imagine I'll update the content fairly often. Gotta keep the kids informed.

I have a xanga site now, but the most noteworthy thing about it is that I made a little html redirector to this site. I got the xanga account so that I could post feedback on Gerry's blog. This reasoning is perhaps a little weak, but he does little audience participation things now and then, and that's worth a fraudulent xanga account. I did consider porting all of my content over to xanga, but I wasn't really impressed with the interface. I'm used to blogger, with it's luxuriously wide text input field and quirky spell check app.

I found out something interesting today. Those of you with the ability to read may have noticed that my URL is "elvee-blog.blogspot.com". This is because www.elvee.blogspot.com is taken. I don't know this person, but he sounds like someone out of Todd Solondz's movie Happiness. At the time of this writing, the sad sack hasn't done anything with his site, hence my irritation and lack of sympathy for him.

Also, go check out Pathetic Geek Stories. It's been a continued feature in the Onion, and now it has a site of it's own.

Today, work wasn't as mind numbing and soul sucking as last week, so I thought I'd make a quick post.

I've applied to SWACS to work on their webpage. Am I qualified? Sort of. I can't code my way out of a paper bag, but I can learn. I hear that they like to hire HHS graduates for such positions, so I have a good chance here. Of course, most HHS graduates either get out of the state and never return, become raging alcoholics, or live with their parents until they're in their early thirties. I'm doing my best to be the first type, but it's taking awhile.

Stay warm, everyone. It's wrath-of-Yahweh cold out there. My doors were frozen shut this morning, so I had to beat on the ice with my bare hands, so now the back of my right hand is scraped up in a fashion similar to the fury of a small rodent attack. I got fed up with that and melted the ice off of the door lock with a butane lighter. This is normal behavior in the midwest, but someone in Texas once sold me that they don't even have ice scrapers in their cars. Weird, huh?

I kind of miss doing huge long marathon posts. There might be one coming, though, assuming Gerry ever completes his half of the oft heralded but sorely neglected joint post about our speculation over the coming summer movies. Hear that, Gerry? Get your arse in gear- the people need to know the opinions of two lanky web-connected comic geeks.

The last week has been a largely forgettable string of workdays with one high point over the weekend in the form of Jen, an old friend from college who I haven't seen in awhile. I got to hang out with her and Todd and Christa and we went and did all the stupid stuff we did in college, like go to Meijer and eat at Munchie. This sounds boring, but trust me when I say you had to be there to understand why this is so enjoyable. For one thing, Jen remembered to play our favorite before dinner game called "Kill Your Friends." The game is played with a ballpoint pen and a napkin or placemat, upon which one person draws the opposing player in some sort of outlandish fatal circumstance, and then the opposing player is left to find an equally outlandish way out. I had to leave my friends early because I had to work early the next morning, though.

It's odd trying to keep this blog up now that I'm working. The more productive I am, the less I have to write about. This is odd, because I used to write more, but this could be attributed to less free time and increased mental fatigue. That, and writing about work is boring.

Anyway, go check out this site. It's something that's made me laugh every time I've seen it.

Happy new year all.

A year ago, I was asleep on my aunt and uncle's couch because we were all getting up early to go to the Rose Parade. This year, I celebrated with a few friends and a few friends of friends. I have a cold and their apartment has cats, so my new year's toast consisted of claratin and half a glass of cheap fruity wine. The sum these ingredients amounted to something like a Sam's Choice chardonnay. It was good to see everybody again, though.

I contemplated doing a year in review post tonight, but I can't think of anything blogworthy from the past year. This new year, though, will be different. I'm going to go back to school and hide out until the economy improves, and work with a competent job placement department to get me out of this town. In the meantime, I hope to keep my job and maybe find a part time job in something more art related. Nothing strenuous, just something to keep the creative juices flowing.

I must give a nod to Gerry and his gimped out ankle. Hope you feel better, cracker. I'm going to be dragging you all over Indianapolis in a month, and I don't need you going all (pick a geek metaphor, hmm... Spike in Buffy season 2? No, uh, how about...) Cobra Commander in the GI Joe movie. Hopefully you're like Lana and your leg will be perfectly healed in two weeks. You'll be up and around reporting on all the breakfast buffets in town in no time.