Did you know that Rufus Wainwright has a sister that released an album last year? No shit, neither did I. I kept hearing this song I liked, so I made note of the name, and looked it up on iTunes, and there she was: Martha Wainwright. The reviewer commented that one of her songs made Alanis Morrisette sound like she should be on the Disney Channel. LOL! Seriously though, the song I downloaded is "Far Away" and there are samples and video clips on her site.
I have not read any news today. I haven't even had on NPR. *collective gasp from the gallery* What's weird is that whenever I realize I've been out of touch for a while, even for a few hours I get a slight panic that maybe something happened, or there is some crisis going on and I don't know it because I'm tucked into my little suburban world of cooking, blogging, and packing for the weekend. I think it's from 9/11. I don't want to have to rely on someone calling me to say, "Put on the TV!" or worse, "Get in the car now and head north, don't you know what's happening?"
Yes, I'm a paranoid freak. Actually, it's pretty cool we're going to have our own place in Maine, so if the fanatics nuke Boston or NYC we have a destination to flee to. Maybe we should keep it stocked like a bomb shelter. Does anyone else worry about this kind of stuff?
Another thing I've noticed lately is that I can't seem to slow my words down in my writing. Pace you know? My speech in real life, as well as my thoughts, are quick, I have a tendency to stream you know? Well my writing voice seems to have that quality as well. When I read most other people's blogs I don't get the sense that I am being bombarded by thoughts and words. Are my entries like that? Is it painful or annoying to read? Someone once told me to slow it down in my fiction, and I am always cognizant of it now. You might even say anal. I wonder if there are exercises for that. I tend to think if I add more descriptives and narration it will slow the pace, but I don't think that always works.
So anyway, the domestic goddess is trading in her apron for goggles and ski pants and we're hitting the highway for Sunday River, ME. That is after we attend the school "Ice Cream Social." There was no hearing of missing it this year. The histrionics that followed not being able to go last year were enough to make my husband and I compromise. We'll leave it early.
Ciao ciao blogland.