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But I Love open mics - all sorts of them. I Love watching the joy of performance, the jitters, and the wonder of something new. Something like this takes me back to Den picking slowly over a half-remembered song at Cafe Florian - not because he's hoping for a gig or a record deal or something like that, but because he Loves to sing (and incidentally, Loves to sing with his wife).

The interruption of a phone call -- Kate! She's back from the Rock Boat, and has passed out 20+ copies of "A Mere Demonstration" to musicians and reps on the boat. We even made a special disc for Angie Aparo.

He recognized HEATHER, at least. Sigh, but I think he thought I was a bit of an ass, so ... no great loss his not remembering me, I suppose. He said he Loved the logo, and our little note, et cetera, and that that "was the way CDs OUGHT to be made".

Kate managed to get a CD to Angie's drummer as well (whoa - the waitress here at the Cafe just made a rob noise!!), so SOMEONE tangled in Angie will hear it!

Also, someone in the higher echelons of Awareness Records ended up with a brand new copy of AMD, as well as some Pat McGee guys, who urge us to call their booking agent (score!). Oh, and the lead singer from Tonic wants a copy. S'not bad.

Soo tired - don't WANNA drive to New York City tonight. Scratch that. Don't want to deal with having to find PARKING in New York City tonight.

sigh.

September 7, 2003
Changing tires and packing cars and hauling boxes - I am my father's daughter, indeed.

 

Spent yesterday walking around the Reading Terminal Market with Shane. This giant indoor bazaar of everything you could possibly want to buy: a jungle plant called Heliconia that looks like a fraggle, fresh fish, books made of grape leaves, all sorts of food that rob and I should not be eating.

I love when you're forced to confront your own stereotypes and realize you are not nearly as highly socially evolved and conscious as you'd like to think. While walking through the market, we followed the sound of a live piano, I, envisioning some tuxedo-clad elder gentlemen like the ones you see in malls and ritzier hotel lobbies. But when we rounded the corner, there was this basketball jersey-clad black boy, freshly into his teens, playing jazz for the market-goers. I was surprised how much it shocked me. Hrm. Take that egotistical notions of social awareness.

What sucked was that, though I got a couple pictures, I did not get the picture I wanted, the one that told the whole story. I wish I was a better photographer, or at least bolder. I dunno. I just feel strange inserting myself and my camera like that. But what I saw with my would-be photographer's mind's eye was the grizzled black shoe-shine proprietor at his similrly grizzled stand watching the boy with a smile. I wanted the shot from behind the boy, keys in view, with the shoe shine guy in the background with his wisened and easy smile of pride.

Oh, well. Maybe the trip will make me more bold further on.

Sept 12th, 2003.
It's been sort of busy in New York. Lots of moving the car so we avoid the street cleaners, lots of walking and figuring out the subway and avoiding the really good-smelling food that I want so much. I think when this trip is over, it will somehow have managed to ruin grilled cheese and nori soup for me. That's been lunch for two days and will likely be lunch today as well. I can't believe I'm obsessing this much about food.

 
 
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