Sinister: Ick

Intellectualvoid at xxx.com Intellectualvoid at xxx.com
Wed Aug 8 20:55:39 BST 2001


Dearest Sinister,

This whole upheaval about touring and such has left me feeling quite drained and shaken.  I must say, being an American (had no choice, now, did I?) I do dislike hearing a word like "American-centric."  It may be true for some, but certainly not for all.  Now, not to start another flaming debate, but really, I'm so *sad* to hear of such stereotyping.  It's terribly unfair, even if warranted on some levels.  Oh well.  Moving on. . . (those are key words). . . 

I'm slacking off at work once again.  I have approximately 12 more minutes to do so.  I'm trying to keep healthy boundaries.  I decided to write all you lovely people, because I like you.  

I trust that those who sauntered off to Spain for a weekend of musical luxury enjoyed themselves greatly.  Oh, and Mr. Mikkelson:  I SAW THE FLY EPISODE.  That was just an aside, but had to be done.

This past Sunday, I leapt into a car and headed out for the open road.  Call it a Jack Keroac moment.  I needed freedom.  Actually I was in search of the perfect, metaphorical photo of "where I live."  Don't know what possessed me.  I don't even know that I'm artistically equipped to attempt such a highbrow thing.  But dammit, I rose to the occassion.  I think.  We'll see when I get the pictures back.  The nice bit was driving on backroads through all those towns (Congress, Jerome, Peeples Valley - they can't spell there, apparantly) that literally have a roadside restaurant and a gas station.  God, I love the countryside.  Even more exciting was a sign that read, "Dead things back Alive:  Antiques."  Ooooh, I would've loved to see what graced the shelves of that clapboard hole.  Too bad it was Sunday.  Maybe next time.

Well, my 12 minutes of bullsh*t are up, I'm afraid.  I'd tell you how excited I was to receive my SF tickets in the mail, but I don't particularly want to add fuel to the fire.  

Much love, really.

Shannon.
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