here you have it

anyone wanna buy a sketch of me doing my homework?

it's actually kindof funny and weird. i was studying in the paul bunyan room, a relatively smallish and quiet study/eating space in the union when i was approached by a woman with a giant sketch pad. she told me that she liked my hair and aked if i minded if she sketched me while i studied. we chatted for a moment and i agreed. an hour or so later when it was time for me to return to class, we chatted some more. she formally introduced herself as kathleen, an art instructor who teaches a summer drawing class on monday nights in the helen c library. then she tried to sell me the sketch. of myself. i laughed and told her that unless she only wanted $1.82 for it, i'd have to pass until my aid check clears. she laughed at herself for knowong better than to try to sell to students. but then, as i was slinging my backpack over my shoulder she says, "this is gonna be a really good sketch, i'll hang on to it incase anyone you know wants to buy it. i'm sure people will recognize you." which actually struck me as slightly creepy. i mean, it *was* a descent sketch, and it's *clearly* of me... someone is probably going to buy that sketch from her sooner or later. weird.

so if you wanna buy a sketch of me studying (i think she actually called it "bri studying") track down kathleen, the instructor of the drawing class that meets on monday nights at 7pm in helen c room 711 (or 771).

in other news:
extra special thanks to anjali, who directed me to the paul bunyan room as the warmest room in the union after we were both *soaked* and i was freezing from being caught in the first (and rather frantic) rainfall in madison since 1987.

also:
extra super special thanks to those of you who have donated to my ACT ride! i've still got team caffeine paraphanelia, so let me know if you want something. if you haven't donated, please please please, visit my fund raising page before august 1!
www.active.com/donate/act5/britown

L4: back for more

tonight was the last game of my annual summer softball league. after the last few games were dragged by hard feelings, our last game was, hands down, the best of the season. i came away with the 3(!) of the best hits i've *ever* had: a triple(!) and two doubles.

after the game, looking at the faces in the circle, we realized that we had just wrapped up our third season together. every single one of us there had played in the L team's very first game, and there we were, still at it three years later.

our first season brought excitement to the local tuesday night womens' softball league, and a group of strangers together in the name of an out "lesbian" softball team called "the L team." we packed the bleachers every week, a monumental feat for a slowpitch rec team. our second season brought 2 new "lesbian" teams. this year: two more teams and our own field.

three years with these women, closed out by my personal best game ever.

three cheers for the L team
for teaching me how to drink beer
for being there for me in times of need
for introducing me to people that have changed my life.

see you next season for L4.

why is this so hard?

and why do you keep lying? you're not playing fair and it makes me feel crazy. you left a five foot painting on my porch without a word. you told me that you needed me in your life, but you set our bridge on fire.

it's pride weekend and i search the crowd and am simultaneously agonized and relieved that i don't see you or your eyes. i don't know where you are, but i know you're not here.

.
.
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i don't mean to close the door
but for the record my heart is sore
you blew through me like bullet holes
left stains on my sheets and stains on my soul
you left me broke down begging for change
had to catch a ride with a man who's deranged
he had your hands and my father's face
another western vampire
different time same place
i has dreams that brings me sadness
rain much deeper than a river
sorrow flow through me
tiny waves of shivers
corny movies make me reminisce
they break me down easy on this generic love shit
first kiss frog and princess

i'm a shake you off though
get up on that horse and
ride into the sunset
look back with no remorse

- coco rosie : werewolf

musicgasm

i don't know how it happened, but i am way behind in music. this afternoon, i spent way too much time (and money) at the local used music store in an attempt to begin my catch up.

the score:
the white stripes : elephant (2003)
pj harvey : uh her her (2004)
coco rosie : the adventures of ghosthorse and stillborn (2007!)
(also: the web site is well worth the time you'll spend waiting for it to open. damn, those girls are brilliant.)
rjd2 : the third hand (2007!)
rjd2 : deadringer (2002) (finally!)
lesbians on ecstasy: remixes : giggles in the dark (2005)
le tigre : from the desk of mr. lady (ep) (2000)

also borrowed from the vivian, who happened to call during the midst of my music binge:
smashing pumpkins : siamese dream (1993) (a classic that i've been missing for way too long)
the sugar cubes : life's too good (1988) (again, filling a huge and important gap in my collection. also, see below)
the sugar cubes : stick around for joy (1992)

on the wish list:
amy winehouse : back to black (2006)
bjork : volta (2007)
veruca salt : IV (2007)
also
anything by cat power and iron and wine
and
anything that would be good, chill music to play at the coffee shop. something along the lines of theivery corporation or psapp or anything that gets played on groove salad

please let me know if you've got suggestions or mixes to send.

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this album is dedicated to, and is for, and about the death of the sweetheart. in a social plane, impossible to exist, and in memories, past defeating present. we mourn the sweetheart's loss in a disgusting world of opportunistic, lottery ticket holders caring about nothing that is long term, only the cheap thrill, the kick, the for the moment pleasure, the easy way out, the bragging rights and trophy holding. the thirteen year old tattoo, the hard attitude, devil may care, don't call your parents, drink, insult, thank only yourself, and blame the rest if you don't get yours. gone to the ether, gone to your mother's hope chest, buried in the boot of the rocker, the trunk of the car, and they get laughs, they get home late, they missed the rent, they forgot your money, they've got a new friend, they won't be told they are wrong.

~the white stripes