I saw Yo La Tengo play last night. It was a great show, very musical. They have a huge range, running from sweet through silly to downright difficult. They did things to the guitar that I didn’t know were either possible or legal; at one point there was a sound so loud and full that every cell in my body was shaking. It was beautiful and terrifying.

In between being pummeled by distortion heavy-freeform solos heavy, a curious thing happened. Apparently I look enough like a scene kid (at my age, a scene MAN) that I was given free tickets to some event next week that is trying to draw a crowd of people who look like me. My favorite part is that the tickets say “DOES NOT GUARANTEE ENTRY” on the bottom, which makes me wonder the extent of their ticket-ness. I think I’ll give it a pass regardless.

At the checkout yesterday, I was behind a mother with her young son. He was, with arm outstretched, reaching toward the carton of eggs sliding down the conveyor belt to be scanned. “Waaaannnnnnt Egggy!!!” he cried, over and over again.

“I’m sorry honey, we have to cook it first,” replied his mom. “Waaaaaannnnnt Egggggy!!!”

“He really likes eggs,” she explained to the adults present.

Today involved catching up on housework, taming the papers in my inbox, getting letters and packages sent, and de-cluttering my mind. It apparently didn’t involve much eating; I’ll have to do better about that tomorrow.

The amazing Anja came over this morning to make music; we rehearsed some klezmer tunes and sang for a while. It’s been such a long time since I’ve really played with anyone, and never before on guitar (there’s motivation to practice more, I tell you). It’s such a sweet thing to make music, and I hope never again to take it for granted.

Quiet Sunday. I spent a lot of it happily plucking away at the guitar, developing my fingerstyle blues chops, and the rest of it reading, cleaning, and generally relaxing.

The football stadium across the way is finally finished, which means that we get high school football games on Friday nights for the fall. They use it during the weekend as well, though without the bone-shattering PA system. If I have the windows open I can hear whistles and the occasional cheering, and if I listen carefully, the sounds of the youth of today running into each other at high speeds.

Medyani took me out for a dose of oil painting, as we saw the about-to-close American in Paris exhibit at the MFA Boston, and afterwards to a Dee-Licious feast at Betty’s Wok & Noodle. While the individual pieces were a delight and in few cases stunning, in combination they directed my thinking to the sociological. What people perceive as important enough to paint, what they choose to accentuate, is as thrilling to me than the work itself, or the technique. And that’s the magic of things, is that they can be looked at with different eyes and imaginations.

I’ve made a habit of examining the framing more carefully as of late. The frame is what separates art from not-art, and while they are often incredibly ornate, they’re rarely signed. And, while I’m hopeful that they did a great job in making that threshold wherever the paintings originally were hung, in the confines of a museum gallery they tend to be a bit jarring.

This week’s Weekly Dig has done a feature called “Mr. Boston,” which takes the concept of Mr. Davis, puts scissors in its hands, and runs running down the street with its shoes untied. In other words, lots of fun. I was interviewed for the article, so you can see what Jeffrey thinking off the cusp looks like in bare print.

I think this is the last of the Mr. Davis media barrage until DARBI takes it at and does beautiful things with him.

Here’s another picture of Soupulon, for no good reason. I am considering t-shirts.

Four years.

Write, document, and share. This was the point behind this journal when I first fired it up. The writing bit was the challenge at first, but as the months turned I established a pattern, and could turn my attention to the other two areas. Exactly what I’ve been documenting and sharing is up to debate; I’m not really sure of the answer any more.

Four years and 1275 posts later, we’re here, wherever that is. I thank you with all my heart for reading, aggregating, downloading.

I’m in beautiful Burlington, Vermont for the weekend, mixing business and pleasure like James Bond. Things are fabulous. Last night we ate at a restaurant where every single vegetable on my plate had provenance.

EDIT 9/17: I’m back, with photos.

My mom has finally entered the “Web 2.0″ world, and has a few pieces of art and jewelry listed on Etsy. Yay mom!

My guitar teacher has a full sized cow in his foyer. It comes out of the barn and sings, complete with disco lights and a band of cymbal playing monkeys.

I am not making this up.

I hadn’t been back to the Bank of America Pavilion since the very cold and dreary Sigur Ros show, so dressed warmly I ventured out to see Deerhoof and The Flaming Lips.

I’ve heard a number of Deerhoof songs before, notably a personal favorite “Gore in Beans,” so I knew what to expect. What I wasn’t prepared for was just how well it would work; every thing I didn’t care for as a recording worked to their advantage live. Their playing is binary; they are very introspective and clean, or well beyond the out-of-control line. The flipping back and forth charming if a bit disorienting at times. They were genuinely having fun with sound. Combined with quirky subject – materials, bunnies, pandas, and milkmen – and sense of dialog between the instrumental parts that reminded me of the time of Poulenc’s chamber music, each song was a condensed music theater piece, gripping and entirely entertaining.

After their set, there was a remarkably long intermission. If I had to complain about anything about the concert experience, this would be it. Deerhoof worked hard to pump up the audience, and by the time The Flaming Lips took the stage, all the momentum had been lost. The Lips rose to the challenge, flipping me from grumbling to cheering in less than a minute. But after all, who can resist dancing alien girls and santas, a volley of huge green balloons into the audience, and confetti rifles, all brought forth (I’d say introduced, but the santa/aliens were referenced much later, yet never explained) to the final bars of Stravinky’s Firebird? The huge video screen challenged the audience to make our lives (starting with tonight’s show) an Epic Experience, and it was all over from there.

They played very well, with a vast amount of energy. There were many sing-alongs and heartfelt conversations between the lead singer and the audience. There was the discussion, made more than once, that happiness was ultimately something each person had to make for his- or herself, and that while death was certain a great certainty, it shouldn’t get in the way. A favorite of mine, “Do You Realize?” makes this into something of an anthem.

Do you realize that you have the most beautiful face
Do you realize we’re floating in space
Do you realize that happiness makes you cry
Do you realize that everyone you know someday will die

And instead of saying all of your goodbyes let them know
You realize that life goes fast
It’s hard to make the good things last
You realize the sun doesn’t go down
It’s just an illusion caused by the world spinning round

It really was an epic experience. It wasn’t just the Lips, though they helped; it was the crowd, the entire venue buzzing with energy and goodwill*, and it’s why I’ll continue to go see live concerts, and why The Flaming Lips, like Deerhoof, are truly children of the live stage.

*A notable exception to the goodwill was the final encore, an angry cover of Black Sabbath’s “War Pigs,” featuring some very graphic pictures from our current military adventure, and some very large and looming pictures of our current war pigs. I have never before seen devil horns convert to birds so quickly.

I spent the most of the weekend sleeping off the lethargy. I feel a lot more solid. This is very good as tonight V and I are going to see Deerhoof and the Flaming Lips, and the rest of the week is shaping up to be appropriately busy. A lot of new projects are starting to come together, and I’m looking forward to a productive Autumn.

The neighborhood football stadium being constructed across the street from us has finally been finished, and the first game was played last night. The cheering isn’t so bad, but the PA system is a bit obtrusive when it’s blaring Appropriate Football Anthem Of Choice™.

I feel very disconnected. Perhaps it’s the days upon days of bad sleep catching up with me, but everything feels entirely unreal. I’m a ghost, and everything else is as well; there’s a strange shimmering about everything, like it could all just collapse at any moment. I’m not anxious or nervous or depressed, just a bit transparent.