Loud-mouthed liberal feminist. Anarchist knitter. Tequila-drinking artsy-smartsy fat chick. Bluesy folk-rock singer-songwriter. Rebel with too many causes. Quirky eclectic pagan poet. Paradoxical intuitive smartass. Sarcastic brainiac insomniac. You know, for starters.


Kinda random today.

I was riding the train home last night, almost midnight, and I had to ride one train downtown to pick up another to get home. (Yes, there was a quicker way home involving a bus ride, but I was not feeling like lugging my guitar and such on a bus.)

Generally, when I ride the el, I just doze off - I'm a light enough sleeper, I rarely miss my stop. Last night, though, I did some people-watching, which is always entertaining and occassionally educational. More the former than the latter, in this case.

I noticed this guy - long, straight, dark blonde hair and a really neatly-trimmed beard, these nerdy glasses, sweater, jeans that looked kinda saggy, and - here's the kicker - cowboy boots. He went from a sort-of-typical-looking-college-kid to a dude in cowboy boots. When he got off the el, though, the real interesting thing came to light...the jeans looked kinda saggy 'cause the man had *no* ass.

There was the standard late night spoiled-college-kid foursome, on the way home from Rush Street to the apartment daddy pays for in Lincoln Park. (not to be judgmental, the spoiled preppy little jackasses)

There was the construction worker on his way home after an evening at the pub next to the job site - I could smell the Old Style oozing out his pores from two seats back. He was snoring, too.

There were a couple Indian women, night cleaners for some office building downtown, on their way home, too, chattering in whatever the actual name for Indian is - Hindi?

It's amazing what you can notice if you just look around.

Last night, before the train ride, I was at a rehearsal for this play the band is doing music for - I wrote music for some lyrics that are part of the play, and last night was a test run to see if it worked in the scene and if the director and everyone liked it.

Before I get into that, allow me to digress about the trials of being an artist. It's tough. It's risky and scary and requires courage and nerve and chutzpah, because you never know which waythe wind blow. Will people like what you've created? Will people dismiss it, or ridicule it? And therein lies the real risk - you can either half-ass it and cut the risk to yourself, or you can take a chance on greatness and put your heart and soul into what you create...which means that if "they" shred your stuff, they're shredding your hear and soul. Scary. So, yeah, this is what goes through my mind every now and then, how truly ballsy I feel pulling out my guitar and letting it rip in front of a new audience.

So, last night, wasn't sure what to expect when I pulled out the git and sang the tune I'd penned for Shakespeare's lovely lyrics.

The warm response I got, in addition to flattering my ego and making me blush, is the kind of thing that makes me want to go ahead and pour my heart and soul into my music (as if I could stop doing that at this point). It's just nice to have that external validation, much as I don't really need it, or seek it out....but I surely do like it when it shows up.

After all, singing for my TV is fun and fulfills my need to make music...but my TV never tells me I have a beautiful voice.

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