I love her stories...

Whew, this blog is stale.

I'm back to bloggin. 

I was talking to Jason recently about the possible reasons why I thought I seemingly abandoned my blog of a full year. I told him that when I started it, I was on tour and felt very isolated and unable to fully connect with my fellow tour mates. It was also during the presidential primaries, and being a very early Obama supporter (not to mention political Junky), I needed an outlet to spill my rants and thoughts pertaining to the most-amazing-political-race-in-history - especially when the last thing anyone on the tour wanted to listen to was my Obama soapbox sermons. 

But then I got back to New York and the entries became scant. I was working. I was busy. I was doing other things. But since that conversation, I've been thinking about it. I missed my little non-facebook-news-fed piece of interweb sky. It's therapudic. It's fun. And incidentally, a not so long lost friend of mine has started one of her own and her words are (as they've always been) inspiring and beautiful. 

So. My friends. I'm back. 

yay!

My Lady From the D

I see her every day. As my car grumbles and screams along the rusty tracks, I'm pulled out of the earth and over the river. As the outside world peels open building by building, beam by beam, each racing past my face, she appears. In my sights, far off in the distance as a proud silhouette standing firm in the heavy streams of honey colored morning-rays, or as a faint and blurred vision ever present, floating in a world of mist and rain, she's there. I see her at night too; holding strong, determined forward. Like a dwarfed yet commanding maestro at the feet of giants, she maintains her authority in all her majesty at the gates of a resonate and supreme beast of a city. As she gracefully glides behind the downcast webs of splayed cable, outstretched by twin giants of fabled stone, it's not long before she begins her retreat behind the beast. Her exit is soft as the buildings tackle above. My car slips back into the earth and the outside world topples and folds in above and around me. I find myself submerged in the angry intestines of the city, suddenly reminded of the intimate nature of my transport. My focus pulls inward and I reflect. She's always there; in the gnashing cold, in the oppressing heat, in wind, in rain, she stands tall and strong, always moving forward, lighting our way. She's there. And I see her every day.

The greatest thing since the princess could fly in Mario Bros. 2

Super Obama World

My sentiments exactly...

A gift.

Something I really hate..

...people who think it's ok to clip their finger nails in public (i.e. the subway, bus station, airplane, etc.). It drives me insane. Not only is the thought of projectile, germ infested, nail shards arbitrarily whizzing through the confined public space revolting, but the sharp, spine-stinging, clipping sound makes me want to crawl out of my skin. I witnessed a man on the subway the other day partaking in this activity. After polishing off four or five fingers, he suddenly noticed the sour faces of his fellow passengers. But instead of putting the clippers away, he decided to instead: roll his eyes and smugly continue his little petacuric project; slowly collecting as many nail crescents as he could, ones that were caught on his sweatered belly. Gross.

Why? Why did he think think the subway was the best place to do this? Bleh...