my heart is a glorious machine;

Well, I'm back.

And oh, it was splendid. Quite marvellous. I am slightly sunburnt (bah!) and rather more than a little sore and blistered, but I had a fabulous four days of music. Furthermore I met the even more fabulous Abigail Washburn, who is as sweet & lovely in person as she is singing out of my speakers.

So, Abigail Washburn & the Sparrow Quartet's album is out today (Tuesday): I implore all of you to go out and purchase it forthwith. (I would if I had money, and anyway it is probably what Dad will get me for my birthday in a month, statistically speaking.) If you are hesitant, I ask you to go listen to this, and come back when you're finished. I heard most, if not all, of these songs live at Merlefest last month, and I don't think I have ever been so close to having the flash at a concert. I very nearly felt as though I would rise straight out of my skin. After a subtlely passionate rendition of "His Eye is On the Sparrow" (you can find that on their EP), they went into "Strange Things", which is one of the most phantasmagorically weird songs I have ever heard -- lady_moriel was talking about epic? This is one of those achingly epic songs that makes you feel as though you've been thrown into some otherworld, and your heart is breaking, but gorblimey, it's beautiful. "Great Big Wall in China" was another that I remembered particularly vividly, because it's so delightfully whimsical, and "A Fuller Wine" -- also epic, not quite as post-apocalyptic as "Strange Things" (or maybe that'd be pre-apocalyptic?), but beautiful. Abigail Washburn's last album was spellbinding and unusual, but the songs I heard back in April have gone even further. (Particularly to my liking, the classical influence has gone up quite a bit, with the violin and cello being extremely more prominent. So we have classical-Appalachian-Chinese-1920s-indie pop fusion, now. I love it.)

Anyway, go have a listen. With all of the hype I've just hurled into your lap it'll probably sound flat now, wot wot.


In other news: YOU GUYS, STEVEN MOFFAT IS TAKING OVER DOCTOR WHO NEXT SEASON. THERE IS NOT ENOUGH SQUEE FOR THIS NEWS. OR CAPSLOCK, FOR THAT MATTER. (The only thing that could make this more awesome was if Neil Gaiman and/or Joss Whedon were recruited to write episodes, but the likelihood of that ever happening is -- well, not a lot.) If Doctor Who was nearly always multi-textured and gorgeously creative and emotionally and intellectually satisfying like "Girl in the Fireplace" and "Blink", well. Seriously, though. I could describe this so much better if I hadn't downed so many cupcakes tonight and gotten all squashy in the head.

I don't know where the past month has gone. I don't really know where I've been. I'm a little more awake just now than I have been lately, I think, but not much, and I don't know if it's going to last very long, if spring is going to finally strike a spark in me.

I used to have so many emotions. I don't know why I don't have them anymore; I've nearly forgotten what it's like to go up as high and giddy as I used to. Oh, I felt silly lots of times, raised to dizzying heights over the littlest things, but I don't get dizzy at all anymore, and I miss it incredibly. I had a twinge of the old trembling excitement I used to get -- it was strange, because I wasn't excited about anything; it felt like when you catch a scent you haven't smelled in years and suddenly you're five again or in the Salem library or a side-street of New Bedford and it's all in vivid Technicolour. It was the essence of excitement. And it's been, oh, longer than I can even reach back for, since I felt like that. I used to hate having to wait for things; the anticipation was agony, but rather splendid in its own way. I wish I couldn't wait for things. I feel like I'm shutting down: one by one, the things that have always meant me are slipping away.


On the good news front, Dad won a pair of tickets to Merlefest, which is one of the biggest folk music festivals in the country: everyone is there (at some point, at least). Most importantly, this year SOLAS IS THERE. WITH KARAN CASEY AND JOHN DOYLE. Also Abigail Washburn and the Sparrow Quartet, which I would be more excited about if we weren't going to see them at Grey Fox later this summer, but as they are one of the best live acts I have ever seen in my life, I'm hardly complaining about seeing them twice. And Ollabelle, and Tim O'Brien (if he nabs Karan Casey to do "Demon Lover" and/or "What Does the Deep Sea Say" with him I will die of squee, though this is fairly unlikely), and Claire Lynch, and Alison Brown, and Jerry Douglas, and a host of people with whom I am not very familiar, but the fun of music festivals is discovering new people (I was utterly unfamiliar with Abigail Washburn and Crooked Still until last year's Grey Fox). I love every part of the sum of music festivals (with the possible exception of Obnoxious Drunks, and portable toilets) -- the crowds, the energy, the musician-swapping (everybody seems to be friends with everybody else, and they grab people from this band and that band and jam, or the workshops throw a lot of people together who may not know each other at all, and by the end it tends to get magical), the sometimes-intimacy, the organic nature of music played outdoors, dancing barefoot on the grass, meeting people, the odd little booths and the greasy food and the sheer joy of people loving music. ALSO DID I MENTION THAT THERE WILL BE SOLAS? Solas has been my favourite band since I was eleven, and while I have seen them live five or six times when we lived in Massachusetts (folk music territory, really), I also have not seen them in over three years, and certainly never with Karan Casey (their original lead singer) and John Doyle (their original guitarist -- their line-up has changed dramatically over the past ten years).

Also also said festival is in North Carolina, where it will be very warm. Furthermore it is in nine days (er, yes, this was all very sudden, mainly on account of us not planning to go at all because it is expensive, and then Dad winning tickets calling into our local NPR station). We shall have to rush back on Sunday evening because Dad is being ordained in Ohio and kind of needs to be there. Mum and the siblings are going with him; I am staying home all alone for three days, an event to which I am rather looking forward. I'd like to see Dad ordained, but he doesn't mind very much and offered to let me stay home. Me locked up in a hotel room with siblings for long periods of time will not result in anything good where anyone is concerned. And I've never stayed home completely alone before, not for longer than a few hours, so I am looking forward to quiet, and perhaps time to write if the muse behaves, and watching films without anybody getting in the way (I shall have to see if I can rent or borrow some not-appropriate-for-the-siblings ones; I've had a hankering to watch Pan's Labyrinth again recently, for one).

On the iPod front, I was utterly unable to resuscitate him and sent in a service request to Apple. The box for return came today, and I've packed him up very carefully, but gorram it! -- the box can only be sent to Apple via DHL. The closest DHL drop-off centre is in Clearfield, which is some ways away. Which means I will probably be iPod-less on the eight-hour drive to Merlefest, as it will likely be several days before we can get out to Clearfield, and supposedly it takes about ten days to engrave a new iPod and send it off (why, I don't know). I miss him terribly, especially when doing dishes or waiting for the computer to stop overheating or having difficulty sleeping. (Also, I AM ANGELLESS ARGH. AND HAVING TO WATCH DOCTOR WHO ON THE COMPUTER AGAIN WHERE I CANNOT TALK TO THE SCREEN OR MAKE SQUEAKY NOISES AS OFTEN.)

Today I got a package from the marvellous charismitaine, full of books (including The Ladies of Grace Aideu and a Trina Schart Hyman-illustrated The Sleeping Beauty and new-to-me books to get to know!) and cosy gloves + armwarmers and bookmarks and a button and A VIENNA TENG T-SHIRT. Which was too small for her and fits me exactly and aslkhglhg!

So, first off: ALKDHGHG PRINCE CASPIAN TRAILER AJHFHGH. Hark their spiffing school uniforms! (What can I say?; I love (British) school uniforms. This is, however, most likely because I've never had to wear one.) And all of the, you know, AWESOME. Er. Don't expect me to be able to be coherent just yet. (EEEE!) Or, you know, actually be capable of speech.

Second off: well, everyone else is doing it, so, um. This is my Christmas wishlist. I feel a bit narcissistic about putting it up at all, but, you know, some of you lot like to get me Christmas presents, and I suppose direction would be nicer than arbitrary stabbing. Also because I have difficulty resisting memes.

step one--
Make a post (public, friends locked, filtered...whatever you're comfortable with) to your LJ. The post should contain your list of holiday wishes. The wishes can be anything at all, from simple and fun ("I'd love a Snape/Hermione (WHAT?) Remus/Tonks icon that's just for me") to medium ("I wish for _____ on DVD") to really big ("All I want for Christmas is a new car/computer/house/TV.") The important thing is, make sure these wishes are things you really, truly want.

If you wish for real possible things, make sure you include some sort of contact info in your post, whether it's your address or just your email address where Santa (or one of his elves) could get in touch with you.

Also, make sure you post some version of these guidelines in your LJ so that the holiday joy will spread.

step two--
Now surf around your friends list (or friends friends, or just random journals) to see who has posted their list. And now here's the important part: If you see a wish you can grant, and it's in your heart to do so, make someone's wish come true. Sometimes someone's trash is another's treasure, and if you have a leather jacket you don't want or a gift certificate you won't use--or even know where you could get someone's dream purebred Basset Hound for free--do it.

You needn't spend money on these wishes unless you want to. The point isn't to put people out, it's to provide everyone a chance to be someone else's holiday elf--to spread the joy. Gifts can be made anonymously or not--it's your call. There are no rules with this project, no guarantees, and no strings attached. Just...wish, and it might come true. Give, and you might receive. And you'll have the joy of knowing you made someone's holiday special.

GUESS WHAT GUYS.

I HAVE GOT A LAPTOP.

Right, so, this was supposed to be a post about National Poetry Month with a long-overdue Poem of the Week in it. Er, sorry, that's next time. THERE IS SQUEEING TO BE DONE.

Which is to say, I JUST SAW 'SMITH AND JONES' AND VERILY IT WAS MADE OF WIN. ALSO CAPSLOCK. AND TEN. BEING AWESOME. ON THE MOON. (Also Martha, who I am liking considerably.) ♥ avendya! 

*FLAIL*

*CAPSLOCK*

(By the by, peanut butter cookies and Doctor Who go very well together.)

So, um, mostly rotten day (I feel awful; like I'm sick, except not sick, and I've got this nasty sort of ghost of a headache that refuses to leave off, and also I really, really need a shower, but it is ruddy cold here), but on a whim, I went to look up Lost spoilers, because I have been feeling too dismal for quite a while since the hiatus began to be very interested in spoilers, but I was feeling rotten and needed something to cheer me up, so...anyway. According to SpoilerFix.com [and here there be rather minor spoilers, but you guessed that, right?], the first new episode will be a Juliet flashback, which is squee-worthy enough, because I ♥ Muffin (even if she might be sort-of-maybe evil, she is still fascinating and she snarked at Jack) and omg Otherville, and...yes. But then I scroll down a bit, and episode eight? IS A DESMOND FLASHBACK. I AM DEAD OF THE SQUEE. (And loooook, he's got an adorable scarf! Rather a lot like one which I wear very frequently. Sorry, that's an awful picture. Oh, Desmond, I love you and your polo shirts and your scarves and your Scottishness and your super powers, omg.) [/copious italics]

I need to dreg up my Desmond Lost icons again. And wear the scarf more often. It's also the Sirius Black scarf, you know.

I totally forgot how much I loved this show. *squee*

First off, I would like to state that I am rapturously in love with the phrase 'mad as a box of frogs'. I am setting it down here so as not to forget it and therefore to use it in conversation eventually.

Second off: I'm going away again. Argh. Shall be back sometime Sunday, I think; Dad's taken it into his head to go to a yurt for the weekend. My idea of fun and relaxation is not necessarily being in a small, enclosed space with my entire family and no privacy for a day and a half with little to do but read. I love reading, and I love reading for hours sometimes (particularly if I really get lost in something--usually it's a new book, or a book I've only read once or twice, but occasionally an old favourite sucks me in so deeply that I "can't put it down", to be momentarily cliched)--but I also like to read in private, and I don't generally like to have almost nothing else to do. Also, this is the second weekend I haven't been able to run about downtown. Grar.

Sometimes I think I need a vacation from vacations.

Well, hopefully I can beat some writing into shape, but I need solitude for writing, too, and if it's not raining I suppose I can play my guitar... It's mostly that Dad and I have a very different idea of what constitues a refreshing vacation. He likes to very little: read, write, admire nature. I like to do those things too, but too much quiet drives me mad. I like to get out and do things, see things, see people. My kind of vacation involves museums and citywandering and other people. The thing is, I can't write, usually, without getting out and doing things first. I have more things in my mind to write about. How could I write poetry, for example, if I spent my life in a bedroom? It would all be the same poetry, just with different words.

Bloody plagure. And I don't even have time to write about the play and by the time I get home I will have forgotten everything important.