In the ever-evolving search for good names for things, we’re moving from Potential Band Names Found In Everyday Conversation to Potential Titles of Award-Winning First Novels Found in Everyday Conversation (PTOAWFNFIEC, for short). We were telling Shea about Rio Grande (he’d never eaten there) and he asked, “They have a lady in a taco there, right?” Yes, they do.
(I’m getting these here. Visit. Be happy.)
There’s something so satisfying about hearing something and immediately recognizing its truth and beauty, even if it’s something you’ve never thought of before. I picked up The Hours again last night, and found this:
It had seemed like the beginning of happiness, and Clarissa is still sometimes shocked, more than 30 years later, to realize it was happiness; that the entire experience lay in a kiss and a walk, the anticipation of dinner and a book… What lives undimmed in Clarissa’s mind more than three decades later is a kiss at dusk on a patch of dead grass, and a walk around a pond while the mosquitoes droned in the darkening air. There is still that singular perfection, and it’s perfect in part because it seemed, at the time, so clearly to promise more. Now she knows: That was the moment, right then. There has been no other.
Profundity is actully pretty common in songs, I firmly believe. (Think of Bob Dylan. Enough said.) I’m discovering how much I love Neko Case, who can maybe be described as Patsy Cline channeling Tori Amos, with a killer steel guitar player. Not only can she belt, she writes her own songs. Check them out. This is from “I Wish I Was the Moon,” on Blacklisted.
“How will you know if you’ve found me at last?
‘Cause I’ll be the one with my heart in my lap”
And today, here’s a list of Potential Band Names Found in Everyday Conversation:
Orcas in Antarctica
Former Penal Colony
Endless Meat Parade
Horse Hooves and Goat Beans
(Oh yeah, you can check out The Website That Nearly Killed Us here: www.mytimeforce.com)
Until then, there’s Salinger.
And a little problem with a “fatal error” message with Dreamweaver, which means creativity has to wait while a site is recovered from screen shots and old files. The wacky agency life, indeed.
From the good old “Hapworth 16, 1924”:
He has a mother, however, a young divorcee with an exquisite, swanky face slightly ravaged by vanity and self-love and a few silly disappointments in life, though not silly to her, we may be sure.
“I find it magnificent how beautiful loose ends find each other in the world if one only waits with decent patience, resilience, and quite blind strength.”
Let’s hope this is proved correct. We have a huge site that has to go up Monday morning, and it’s still being built. I hope our blind strength will be enough. It’s a little sleep-deprived at this point.
While the food itself is not atrocious, it is cooked without a morsel of affection or inspiration, each string bean and simple carrot arriving on the camper’s plate quite stripped if its tiny vegetal soul…A nameless inertia hangs over these two [the cooks], alternating with fits of unreasonable wrath, stripping them of any will or desire to prepare creditable, affectionate food or even to keep the bent silverware on the tables spotless and clean as a whistle. The sight of the forks alone often whips Buddy into a raw fury. He is working on this tendency, but a revolting fork is a revolting fork.