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I like Emiliana Torinni's album, though it is nothing terribly original. Indeed, it is standard me-music, right down to her sweet, scratchy, slightly-flat voice that's a stunning cross between Bjork's and Edie Brickell's.
I did an inventory on my cd collection today, and came once again to the conclusion that I own a ridiculous number of the things. I wonder, I truly do, what my mental block against male voices is. And the male singers I do like, generally, are all from past generations of music - James Taylor, Nick Drake, Van Morrison, the classic rockers. Et cetera.
But enough about my narrow tastes; I know nothing of music, really, except what I like.
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The weekend has been full of early-semester loveliness. No work but light reading (well, and Chaucer), late sleeping, a bit of frolicking. L and I went malling on Friday (I was convinced to buy a feather boa after expressing an unfulfilled childhood longing for one, so I'm now the happy owner of a fluffy red thing. I've named it Daniel. We cuddle.) I achieved the perfect state of drunkeness (easy to do when you lack any tolerance whatsoever) and I'm still rather proud of that feat. Searched fruitlessly for two books purchased just before break, which have apparently been vanished away by the book fairies. Who, unlike their teeth-snatching counterparts, are not inclined to leave compensation beneath pillows.
Speaking of books. I want them. More. Now.
That is all.
I did an inventory on my cd collection today, and came once again to the conclusion that I own a ridiculous number of the things. I wonder, I truly do, what my mental block against male voices is. And the male singers I do like, generally, are all from past generations of music - James Taylor, Nick Drake, Van Morrison, the classic rockers. Et cetera.
But enough about my narrow tastes; I know nothing of music, really, except what I like.
+++
The weekend has been full of early-semester loveliness. No work but light reading (well, and Chaucer), late sleeping, a bit of frolicking. L and I went malling on Friday (I was convinced to buy a feather boa after expressing an unfulfilled childhood longing for one, so I'm now the happy owner of a fluffy red thing. I've named it Daniel. We cuddle.) I achieved the perfect state of drunkeness (easy to do when you lack any tolerance whatsoever) and I'm still rather proud of that feat. Searched fruitlessly for two books purchased just before break, which have apparently been vanished away by the book fairies. Who, unlike their teeth-snatching counterparts, are not inclined to leave compensation beneath pillows.
Speaking of books. I want them. More. Now.
That is all.