ironymaiden | for a foggy night

there's Larry Niven story about how the appearance of thick fog is not suspended water droplets in the air, but a confluence of worldlines. step into the fog from your reality, and step out in another where no one's invented the stapler.

super early this morning was that kind of fog, where you find yourself suspended in your own pocket of reality, and the edges of the rest of the world don't exist. i love the fog almost as much as the rain, except for the scary scary driving. i shall hand off my designated driver keys for a while, i think.

last night was the last last goodbye, and it was fittingly magical and sweet.

frabjousdave kissed the girls (but they managed not to cry), there was beer and bourbon, and

the_monkey_king describes the evening of brilliant music at the Tractor better than i might. Jim White is funny and self-deprecating and deserves a larger audience, but i am in love with the unclassifiable melancholy party sound of Devotchka. i know too well the fussiness of a theremin on stage, and to play one against a tuba is brilliant idiocy. Jim White spoke to and signed for everyone who wanted to see him (despite professed sleep deprivation and a mixing session to follow the show), and our own M&C walked away with a signed guitar, used in that very performance.

i don't get to have late-night breakfast with three bourbon-touched men nearly often enough. i resolve to buy a round of drinks more often.

many have recognized the passing of

frabjousdave into the distance, but i would like to say a word for Fred, who has poor keyboarding skills and therefore is unlikely to IM me or call. he loves all the ladies, and i'm sure i was just another warm body who occasionally threw the treats, but i shall miss his butterfly head on my leg and finding his hair in random places. i hope M&C remembers to get you some catnip after all the trauma. safe journey, boys.