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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