sighing in the breeze
This blog was formerly full of blatherskite, bosh, claptrap, double-talk, flapdoodle, drivel, pishposh, rubbish, twaddle; gibberish, babble, Greek, jabber, jabberwocky, nonsense, skimble-skamble. now, it's more like an empty stage around here. feel free to wander around the wings. don't trip on any props.
Weekly World News: AL QAEDA PLANS TO DROP GAY BOMBS
Because your good girl's gonna go bad
There's a punk who sings and plays a random selection of songs on his acoustic guitar at the BART station near my job. He's not particularly good, but he doesn't completely suck, either; he's incredibly earnest and, not surprisingly, looks as exhausted as everyone else in the place as they shuffle home from their days of drudgery. There aren't exactly crowds of tourists around him, but lately he seems to have gotten stuck with the morning spot, and I don't think he's been doing so well. This morning he was playing "I Wanna Be Sedated," and I kicked him a buck in gratitude. This evening on my way home, he was still there, but he'd moved above ground, and was strumming an electric guitar, plugged into a little amp. He nodded at me, another drone on her way home; I got on the train, went home, and sedated myself with some Harry Potter and a martini.
Lately I've been spending more time in the East Bay than I have in over 11 years of living in San Francisco, and I imagine that I'll be spending even more time there in the near future, since someone I'm rather crazy about is moving there.