Hard Way Home

I have divided you up into camps. Three of them. I have discovered your camps more than created them. True, it may be unfair to clump you all together, but I have exactly no emotional energy to waste anymore -- so you are where you are. Most of you surprised me, ending up in sections of my heart that I never thought I'd put you. Keeping me on my toes.

I want to thank you all. Even the ones in the "doesn't give a fuck" camp - you've helped me along, liberated me. Down to bare bones vulnerability, in my darkest closet of self-loathing, you set me free. I don't have to worry about you anymore. Now, don't get me wrong, ok? This isn't to say that I don't *care* about you. Because I do. I just know that in times of need or reciprocation, I can't count on you - so I won't expect it. You know what I mean?

There was a moment, crying in my hallway, I didn't think I could stand up - nor did I want to - ever again. Decomposing in my hallway in July was exactly what I wanted to do. Sobbing paralleled to a grief untouched by daylight. A few of you came in with your flashlights -- everyone else walked around, barely glancing my way.

Those of you with flashlights: holy shit, I am the luckiest. And you know who you are.

Whenever you call, baby, I'll roll up

I have a tiny family - two non-humans who are reliable only about a few things and one boy who is, to a fault, loyal.  So loyal and loving and devoted that most of the time, I just can't believe it.

Here's a tiny example: Last weekend, after an emotional trip and tired flight, when I landed in Fort Wayne 25 minutes earlier than my itinerary said we would, I turned on my phone quickly to text him and plead for him to hurry, a text pops up on my screen: "Don't worry. I'm here."

And I suppose, deep down, I was worried. That's where I live - in a perpetual haze of anxiety. But I shouldn't, not with him anyway.

The first time he and I interacted with one another, he saw me flip my top on this shit head in the lobby that connected the boy's dorm with the girl's dorm in college. I was a chubby freshman, short hair and bad skin. I remember what the fight was about, but trust me, it's not worth it. And from afar, I'm sure it seemed like my points were insane (they were) and that I was insane (I wasn't, just fat). Point is: he still gave me a chance, even after that.

Super late one night, I get a heavy phone call from my brother - he needed me and I was hours and hours away, newly married to a boy who was sleeping next to me and broke. I couldn't get to Wisconsin to save my life. I was a hopeless, sobbing mess - volatile and raw. I lost it -all recognition of sanity: made my throat bloody and broke my phone into one hundred pieces on our hard wood floors. He stayed put.

A few summers ago, I lost my job to Mitch Daniels, I lost weight because of stress and I sacrificed my mind to grief.

I drink too much. I gossip too much. I complain and overreact and get depressed with the ebbs and flows of life too much. I can't seem to settle down. I don't read novels, just comics and poetry. My favorite bird is the King Fisher (who has that as their favorite bird? For real, though).

I still cry about my dad. I talk too much, especially about Anakin Skywalker and Dean Winchester and Fox Mulder. I make terrible Iced Tea. I'm never happy with my job. I fall in love with fictional characters. When I cry, I don't just cry, I sob. I have terrible road rage - the likes of which you haven't seen...

But, here he stays. Next to me. I'm crazy, but he loves me anyhow.

Somehow.  

Far more aware than I have been

Today it was mostly eating the small moments with a delicate fork and well poised knife. "The sun really showed up and is doing it's job" was a good salutation to a really weird morning - but it's true what he said. The sun had armies. They blew my face off.

With unsteady steps I walked up my stairs in someone else's purple sweatpants and fancy blue shoes, nearly my burial shroud, or so it felt. The only longing was for my empty bed- dried wine in the cuts on my lips. A bruise on my chin. Arms that smelled like vomit.

Let's get one thing straight, I don't ever mean to binge drink. I don't ever mean to nearly die in my friends' new home. I don't ever mean to make other people's husbands carry me to their homes. Last night, I fucked up. And I'm embarrassed. And I'm sorry. But, in a very serious way, I'm grateful.

And way scared.

I'm blood and carbon and magic. And these ribs and this heart - I've only been given this. And I'm sorry I'm not a better steward. And I'm sorry that I'm falling into a stereotype. And I'm so goddamned sorry that I have to keep saying sorry.

But like I said before, the sun showed up. Thank goodness. And the moments today, even the ones where I felt heavy with a coat of guilt, were welcomed. If I would have felt better, I would have thrown each minute today a fucking party. Hugged them like I'm picking them up at the airport.

where i see a lot of stars

I drink beer now. And Merlot. I don't know what's happening.

I actually do, but anyway...

I am assigning phases in life, familiar situations, to alcohol. Okay, you ready?

Sweet reds - flings.
A good, and true Moscato - one night stand or a serious 2 day stint of sexting with a (kind of) stranger. Merlot - A complicated relationship, complete with comfort and conflicting feelings.

Shot of tequila followed by sangrita - a seriously good masturbation.
PBR (or Hamm's) - maybe one kiss on the cheek, or can be subbed out for a fun night with friends.
Drambuie - sitting in the evening sun.

Whiskey and coke - Writing when you're lonely.
Mojito - Wearing a tank top that shows a little too much of your (hot) side boob.
Lemon Drop Martini - well, this one needs no explanation.

So, you see what I'm doing? I'm becoming an alcoholic. But, I don't care. Life is hard - and love is hard - and separating the darks from the lights is hard. Everything is sore, so I drink and become familiar with fake scenarios that give me comfort.

Is that so wrong?

you may as well get what you want

I drove to the top of a parking garage tonight and stood on the roof of my car. It sounds insane, doesn't it? It is a desperate act of an unbalanced human. It has to be, right?

I haven't figured anything out.

If you're wondering, it was awesome. Just standing there taller than the mundane shit around me - people walking on the sidewalk not knowing that a looming petite girl was wavering right above their heads. Scurrying around, quickly, probably thinking about sweeping their floors or grocery lists or it probably really doesn't matter what they were thinking - I was just there. Existing in a solitary moment. Breathing and breathing. Wondering how I don't ever know what to do about how I feel.

Life is moving. And it makes me do a lot of standing still.

i still go out by the old house

I pretend I don't love it here. I get antsy sometimes and talk big shit about moving. Packing up my bags, I'll say. I'll say, Going out west. And you know what, in those moments I really want to be knee deep in red soil and ancient spirits. But right now, this is a beautiful place to be.

I can't hide it, really. You know those small moments that peep around the corner, shyly, like the new girl coming into math class? Like, the sun crashing it's way past my house and onto the neighbors big bay window. That's a shy moment that makes me want to sing. Or sitting quietly on the porch. Or knowing my neighbor next door will inevitably talk to me about salvation and amazing grace. Though I don't like that chatter, per se, I like that I know he'll slip it in whenever he can. Praise the lord.

Consistency. My white haired neighbor walking her cat, Pete. The man who lives in apartment 2 listening to The Morning Show so loudly about every other day. My pink perfume catching the sun in the bathroom window. The apple tree in the back yard doing it's thing, making me all romantic for the seasons. These are the things I can't yet sacrifice to the god of maybe-i-can-have-a-better-life-somewhere-else. And it's fine, you know? That's just what I have to tell myself. It's okay to pine for something else, or bigger, or redder, or just different -- but what's not okay is giving up amazing.

I mostly am in love with this, the here and now. I might moan about this thing or another thing, but I've nested in this town. And this town has grown comfortable with me, too.

i'm sure hard to handle

My neighbor across the street has died. It's unfortunate. He died alone. And that's a bummer - almost one of my biggest, most brooding fears. Hell, I'm afraid of driving to Indianapolis alone, so dying goes without saying, right? Anyway, his family is here cleaning out his apartment, trashcan after trashcan, box right after box and it got me thinking, what would people find going through my lifelong belongings. It's an odd thing to think about, everyone rummaging through the things I've treasured in my life. Anyway..

 books. (i mean it, BOOKS) bowls. it's sick how much i like buying bowls. random little notebooks with poems. The X-Files on DVD in collector's sets (season 1-7), fabrics i don't really ever intend on using. cleaning supplies, lots of them. my love letters to and from andy. wrapping paper from last holiday season and the season before that and the season before that. rock band. coats i haven't worn; coats i have. bedding because i really don't think anyone can ever have enough sheets. a rosary that would confuse my mom and friends alike. make-up i have never used; make-up well loved and used frequently... i mean, the list goes on.

I haven't seen my neighbor's family keep anything. And isn't that just heartbreaking? And if this blogpost is anything at all, it's a salute to companionship, to my partner in life. Because my grandparents wouldn't want my copy of American Indian Myths and Legends but, i really do believe, andy would go to war for it if i died. Same thing with that little blue prep-bowl we use daily for our meals that i bought that one time at that store that's out of business now. Or that dumb pillow case with obnoxious poppies on it.

I can't even think it through. I'm going to stop.

late december back in '63

Yep, that's my bike. In the time of vintage Schwinns with baskets and cute girls in cute dresses with arm tattoos, riding them, mine is a mountain bike redeemed with Marlboro miles.
It's a boy's bike, too.
My bike is a monster truck - the kind people piece together from junkyards with Budweisers in their hands. My bike is that girl in gym class who can climb that damn rope...twice. My bike is steak and potatoes.

I love it.
I ride it around this neighborhood I live in with pride. In my cutoffs.

The first thing you should know about my bike is: it belonged to my dad.

The second thing you should know is: he diligently smoked a shit ton of cigarettes (Reds) to save the miles. If he saw a pack on the ground, he picked up the trash and ripped off the miles. He worked at the landfill, his eyes were always on the look-out for discarded carton cardboards - it was a religion. He saved the miles like they were on their way to perdition. 5 miles at a time -- working his way towards this Fuji mountain bike (that's, by the way, heavy as hell).

I remember the day it happened. He had enough miles to get this bike - which is great, because with all his DUIs, he really needed some transportation. Right on time, I thought. Like a miracle. Shiny and red with five speeds - perfect for riding around our little rural town, flipping the townie cops the middle finger and wearing this bike like a badge of honor.

It was a few summers before he died. He got this bike. Rode this bike. Wrote his name on tape and stuck it proudly down the seat-tube. (The tape is still there).

I ride my bike proudly. And while you are daintily pedaling your bike worth much more than mine, I know that a bike can be much more than a bike, it can be salvation.

I'd go to war on this steed - I'd go to war for this steed.

Amen.

on a dark windless night

Let me start out with being honest.
Maybe I've gone my whole life without knowing true religion. Maybe not. I don't really know. I mean, I used to think about stuff in a completely different way - which, I think is maybe growing up? But these past two weeks I've been breathing deeper, hanging out with ancients, picking up all the red soil I could manage and getting dust in my shoes.

I've never invented corn. I've never built my house with my own hands. I've never ground my own corn. I've never sat underground with my family and loved them through a cold winter's night. What the hell.
I don't necessarily feel badly about it, but I just wonder how am I supposed to know anything at all. I've never done anything. At all.
I'm certain I've gone my whole life, and will continue to go the rest of my life, being blind to so many things. Is it okay that I'm so far off base from where I wanted to be 8 years ago? Probably.

I'm okay. Life's okay. I mean, fuck - corn wasn't invented in a goddamned lifetime - it took several harvests; it took several harvests; it took several harvests. (I'll say that until it sinks in.) Okay, so what I'm really saying is this: I'm back from vacation. I had an amazing time. Nothing really makes sense, just that life keeps going. No one will ever preserve my home's foundation. No one will ever happen upon my religion. But still, for a short time I will walk this earth - and while here, maybe I'll do something small that will beget something a little larger that will maybe eventually be something great. But maybe not. Either way -- I'm here now.

Life is hard. Existing is hard, but, fuck. We get to do it.

i can offer you a warm embrace

There are lots of different reasons to be sad. I'm experiencing about half of them -- all together. Topping the list, I just really miss my dad. I think that's okay to say nearly 12 years after his death. I didn't know him, but I bet he would really *get* me. I would wager that he might be close to the only one who could - but what am I to do? I wonder if he would wonder at 48, "could I have been more?" But he doesn't get that luxury. Well, fuck, let's call it like it is: I don't get that luxury. I don't get the luxury of being stable or being happy for longer than 4 days in a row.. I just can't get over the idea that maybe it's his fault. There, I said it. Getting mad after 12 years? Probably not normal.

Lots of people don't have dads. Lots of people borderline hate their jobs. Lots of people feel empty and relentlessly void. I am not unique in my trials and burdens. The unhinging of my life is ancient. Survival, really. Survival really gets me down. Understanding how it's done escapes me daily. Mostly, I feel like I'm not a real human. The things I do are tiny and dumb. I have a body that fails and a mind that fails and a heart that does, too.

I'm a mess, really. But when I really shake it down and label what it really is, I feel trite and like tomorrow's biggest idiot. I'm sad about a decade dead dad and about my job. What the hell?

When did life get dumb and hard?

we live half at night

I just told him the other day, we have the nicest room I've ever seen. And I mean it. Well, not really the nicest... with the cracks in the paint and the gaps between the wall and floor. But that's not what I'm talking about anyway.

It's nice. We have a fern in there. And a painting by him of a red-winged blackbird. We have comfortable blue walls and brown floors, a low bed with clean sheets and four windows. Four windows. A cat tree by two of these windows and various old things scattered around in a kind of decorative way.

Do you know how we met? It actually doesn't matter. We met. We liked. We have been together for 9 years. We broke up five times in the first year, well, four almost five. I talked him out of the fifth with a strong arm. And here we are, married.

Aware is an understatement. I become an elevated-aware when I'm in my negativity pit of how amazing this can be. Him and me - keeping each other alive by living this little life. He's good. And funny. And sweet. We both have talked about the severity of the term "soul mate" - there's a lot of responsibility there. We don't believe in it. We don't. We're sure that we weren't designated by the universe to be the ONLY ONE for the other - that's just absurd. But Jesus Christ, I'm happy we designated ourselves for the other. I am.

The best part of my day today was coming home to him making me food with a happy heart.

And he's why our room is the best room ever. I get to retire the day with him breathing next to me. On our separate pillows, under our separate covers, sharing the same air and mostly, the same heart.

The party's done, the cake's all gone

It happens no matter where you are. You pick favorites. Horse races - favorites. Clothes - favorites. Kids - favorites. Books - favorites. Foods - favorites. Library patrons - favorites. It just, naturally, happens. You connect with something of a likeness. You talk and laugh and talk and laugh and think, "Yep, this is it." I have favorite library patrons/customers - I do. I won't pretend I don't and say things like, "Nope, they all are special" or some shit like that. I will just flat out tell you, I have favorites. It's good to have people who resonate with your soul. I won't apologize for it. Some babies stand out among the mass. Some grown-ups stand out.

If you haven't gathered already, I'm talking about specific library patrons. There's a baby with floppy hair and two, yes, TWO teeth on the same side of his mouth that make him look like a little monster. He knows me. He knows me by my voice because of storytime, he knows me by my smile. He knows me because I love him. This baby has a dad. This dad likes me. We click. We laugh and talk and shoot the shit and laugh again about his family from Louisville and the other babies in storytime. We get each other. He's dapper, you know? Black pea coat, salt 'n' pepper hair, thin framed glasses and a good singing voice - but that's not why I like him. I like because he's nice to his baby and to me and to other parents and because we just have something internal that settles easily and comfortably with one another. We like each other.

Guess what, guys. He just found out he has a brain tumor.

And that's the kind of nonsensical world we live in. Dads get brain tumors. Dads die in fires. Sometimes the dads who deserve to live and be healthy don't and arent'. The Dads who are despicable, you know, the abusers who suck at life, live and are healthy.

This is a somber day, indeed.

god damn it.

kiss me and kiss me until i'm dead

"To the park, Jeeves, it's been a good day."

My nena says that, "to the park, Jeezes" and usually it doesn't make much sense. I think it's from some movie, but I'm unclear on that, too. So, be prepared for that sometimes, you know? The unexpected saying that never really does make much sense even in context. Life is like that sometimes, funny and unexpected.

I had lunch with a library friend who somehow likes me. He's just way cooler than me and it sounds totally middle school to put it in such ridiculous terms, but it's so true. And it was nice. We laughed and talked about people going under for surgery and not waking up (we didn't laugh about that per se) and trips to the southwest and how we'll never truly *love* the new Jimmy John's location and a tad bit of religion and what that does to people on Facebook and so on and so forth. It was nice. I mean, beyond nice. It's good to find likeness in people. I think so, anyway.

When we got back to work, these cute little black flats with so much bling on the toe were just sitting politely on my desk. I promptly tried them on and got super nervous that they weren't for me. But don't worry. They were! Don't even get me started on how well the fit. And just how much I like them! Jesus, this is boring, I know - but funny, too, in an unexpected way. And subtle things, too. Free shoes that actually fit from an *almost* complete stranger who thinks they'd "look cute" on me is a big red balloon of funny, but the small things, too, can actually paralyze me. Like, a tiny gap toothed boy telling me I did a good job at his storytime. Like, 52 kids jumping and laughing and doing silly dances (wait, that's a BIG thing). Like, having a best friend who calls just to tell me she loves me. I mean, life is like that. Life is good sometimes especially when you don't expect it.

Bored yet? That's okay, be bored. Be a carbon based vessel filled up with boredom, but do it with a happy heart. Listen to The Sunscreen song, I mean, really listen to it. Watch something or read something or think of something that makes you happy. Let life say, "to the park, Jeeves" and think about my beautiful Nena who loves wine so much and makes funny jokes that don't make sense. Think about loving so hard. Life is crazy nuts.

The race is long, and in the end, only with yourself

I did the dishes today. I've been feeling droopy and like dragging my knuckles through the dirt. I don't know, I'm tired and all broken out in a burny, itchy hive due to this antibiotic that the surgeon prescribed to me after I got loads of infection in my jaw after the dry socket after the wisdom tooth was removed. *phew* A little reminiscent of There Was an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly, just not near as funny. Anyway, so dragging the knuckles lots. But earlier, I decided that it was time to do something. I chose the dishes.

I'm glad I did. It was refreshing. All the while, my husband hung out with me in the kitchen. I'm lucky. I am. I've sang about it here before. I bet it's too sappy to keep saying it, but he's the perfect counter to my crazy. He's good and easy going and stable - and we pass the baton. It's usually me who feels a tinge of gray, but when he does, I go all stable and calm. It's a good working thing. We're homeostasis, mostly. The days we aren't, it's like the universe is tilted out of whack and volcanoes are accidentally fuming and rivers are running backward.

So, while I was washing dishes and he was hanging with me, he gets up and says, "I need a q-tip". He walks, grabs one, does his ear thing and comes back to me, near the sink. That's how life is around here. And it's good.

...and your mommy sunddenly becomes your daddy

I have a good life - three boys who love me (one human, two cats), a sweet little downtown apartment with plenty of natural light, food in my mouth and booze in my belly, hot water and warm socks on this ridiculous snow day. I have a job that utilizes my (excellent) people skills and uncanny knack to identify with children. I have literacy on my side, long blond hair and some nasty cool new christmas clothes. I have the internet, so I can know many things in very few seconds, update my blogs and laugh at yours (if and only if they are about things I like to laugh at). Health hangs out with me on a consistent basis. So do my friends.

Sometimes I get sappy, I have to get down on paper (or fake cyber paper, as the case may be) how lucky I am and, equally good, how lucky I feel.

Probably, if you are reading this, I love you. And thanks for being the person you are.

e

Look at me now

I'm a tired human being. And, as evidenced by this blog, not a very consistent one. I try. I really do try. I always thinking, "man, I should blog that" or "it's been a while since i visited my own blogs" or "writing and I used to be buddies.. let's do that again", but whatever. i've been jet-setting the shit out of this country. So, I guess i'm trying to say "sorry". Sorry for letting you down, readers. All one of you.

This past weekend was spent in Memphis. I ran the St. Jude's 5k. I did great. Don't mean to brag, but i just did. whatcha' gonna do? It's decided - I'm starting to train for longer distances, by this time next year I will have a half marathon under my belt. it's crazy to be motivated about running... excited and weirdly inspired. i'll take it, though - right now i don't have much else.

Also, internets, give me direction. tell me what the hell to do. the future is bleak when you don't have a clue as to what should happen..

In the mean time, i've got my health and new make-up. What else matters?

the only time i feel alright is by your side

this life is crazy mixed up busy and mind blowing. yep. traveling and working and moving shit out of our bedroom to get hardwood floors. living with your clothes in your living room is whack. whatever. so, i've nearly polished off 3/4 of a bottle of wine tonight. i hate to say this, because it shows that i have eating issues AND drinking issues, but i deserve as many calories as i want tonight because work sucks major dick. (excuse the expression. i know, it's crass). i like my job sometimes, people. don't get me wrong. but sometimes it's just so hard. hard. hard. hard. hard like a jersey shore boner. that's what i said earlier.

here's a run down: first and foremost, my big fat ass has got to start running again. I run a race on December 3rd. I can't be last place. that'll make me feel badly. secondly, i'm going to see my mom this weekend. sometimes i get nervous about that. it'll be fine. i came from her carbon and blood and foam. third, i get to see my friends jon and amy at the end of this month! fourth, i get to see my friend beremy (who is going to live with me - and we're gonna start a baking/brewing blog and things are going to be awesome because i feel so lonely and i'm actually going to have a friend who will hang out with me... and so on and so on!) and this weekend, while i'm away, my landlord is renovating my floors. i'm excited. it'll be a nice ass change.

here's this other thing i want to tell you, i can drink a quarter of a bottle of wine and still type a blog post. i'm not sure if that's good. or if that's bad.

one more thing. that's me with a TINY back pack on my back. that's my face saying "don't even, yeah right!"

i walk upon the river like it's easier than land

it's raining. it's been raining all day. and that's okay. I did a lot of driving and sometimes driving in the rain is good for the soul, today it was good.
i went to La Porte, Indiana.  i have history there. and family there. and a dead dad there. i also have a cousin who does hair there. that's basically why i went - to get my highlights and a trim. but i visited the graveyard.
it's weird how walking through the gate felt like a homecoming. i didn't have big revelations, i didn't actually *say* words to the grave stone like they do in the movies, i wasn't sad and weepy - i just was. i was comfortable and hiding underneath an umbrella.
i did take off my shoes. i wanted the soles of my feet to touch the ground that covered my kin - it was probably the best part of the day. i stood there. for a while. it's been eleven fucking years. can you believe that?
i stood on the ground that covered the remains of a dad i used to have. life is chaos and pretty fucking cruel. i feel better when i think about breathing in particles of all my ancestors. i feel better when i think about that time my dad suggested to my mom that maybe they should keep the baby instead. i feel better when i think of his ruddy complexion and barrel chest and how, if i have a baby boy i will petition all mighty powers within the universe to have him resemble an Anderson man. i feel better knowing that my dad didn't choose to disappear from my life. these things make the 11 years easier, but then i think of the apparent disorder and all the bull shit people tell themselves to get by.
so, i wasn't sad until i started driving away.
and it was the kind of sad that tastes stale.

the sound of ancient voices

starting last friday, i've been in indy. you know this because i've told you before, but in case you can't remember, i work a Do It Best hardware show 2 times a year - October and May. I make pretty good money for a weekend. It does take shit ton out of me. The past two markets I've been selling WordLock padlocks and I like them. I like being in the lock and door aisle. Seriously. Some good people down that row.

Husband visited this market and we got drunk. Bad idea when you have to work at 7 am to 530 pm, but we don't care - we're young! Just kidding, i really care. I shouldn't have, but i did and now i know to never do that again. but i probably will. We had good tequila and we chased it traditionally with sangrita and you know what? it was amazing. i just want you to know i could very easily be an alcoholic, i gotta keep these things in check. people shouldn't introduce me to smooth tequila with the best chaser in the world. but now i have to tell you, after we got a little drunk we went to circle center mall. do you know how fun it is to be drunk in a mall? do it at least once in your life. it makes malls SO MUCH more enjoyable. and you accidentally buy clothes that are too small and spend too much money. who cares? (me, again. i do, but i didn't then)

but now, i'm home. and i'm happy to be home - i slept in until 930. that's crazy. but like i said, this market really takes a ton out of me. harder than you think, no lie.

also, as a post script, our big home computer is completely dead. thus the lack of updating. blah.

sorry this post was so damn boring, i'll do better next time. i have to go pick up my car from henry's now, because yes, i got drunk last night.

this is the sound of settling

the absolute best part about being sick is the feeling better afterwards. that's a stupid ass thing to say, i know, but i'm saying it anyway. everything is amplified. booze, sunshine, cream cheese frosting, tv, hugs, sex, i mean.. just everything. well - not work.  ((zing))

it's officially fall - i've made my first autumnal flavored baked good this evening, pumpkin cupcakes with cinnamon cream cheese frosting. Yes, they will give your mind a blow job, (excuse my crass language, but it's funny to me tonight. Probably because saying "blow job" is funnier after one has been deathly ill for a while). But I'm not kidding. Here's the recipe. Make them. Do it. Don't be a baby.

Currently listening to Death Cab for Cutie's Transatlanticism. You know what, I'm not ashamed. This album is good like breathing is good. I like it, reminds me of college and since i'm so old, it's nice to remember. I saw them in chicago promoting this cd. it was a date with my now husband - and we stood close, and swayed our bodies together and were drunk with noise and people and hot with the crowd. we clapped our hands feverishly at the end, but i kind of think we were applauding one another.