Usually on Wednesday nights, I’m tr ying to put finishing touches on some page for Dicebox. But as my drawing time was yanked away from me earlier this week, I was already resigned to missing this week’s update (and only 2 pages into Chapter 2. Yeesh.). So when a free ticket became available for the Ryan Adams show at the Roseland, I took it.

This all kind of reminded me of my college days when someone would ask me if I wanted to go see the concert of some band or musician I never heard of before and then made my decision on the basis of half a song that’d be played for me. And, like those past times, I was not disappointed with my choice.

I knew Ryan Adams by reputation only (and knew not to scream out for “Summer of 1969”) so could not join in the general enthuiasm over the begining chords of this or that song. But I liked the music and found his obsession with Cookie Monster amusing, as was his Tom Waits impression—which actually sounded more like Louis Armstrong.

The real treat for me however was the opening act Tegan and Sarah. To put it simply: they rocked. And I was surprised to find some of their songs familar. Then I realized that Kip has been playing their latest CD around the house. When he picked Hilary and me up, he confirmed that he had. And that they are sisters (twins), which relieved Hilary and I as we were afraid we had fallen into the cliché of how all Canadians look alike.

Happy Halloween.

As I was typing up this entry, I went to my file for the Jennworks Home page and realized I hadn’t post the entry below, the one for September 30th. Though it’s “out of date” I decided to post it anyway as I had already typed it up and since this log has become a convient way for friends and family to keep track of my doings.

This weekend wasn’t quite as eventful as last one, though I did manage to keep myself busy.

Friday I went to see Dave Eggers (of McSweeney’s fame) read from his assorted works—my favorite, at least from a performance angle, being the letters from an Irish Setter named Steven to various CEOs. I went with some co-workers, and we learned that Dave’s favorite thing to write are the pirate bios he created to be printed on paper he’s burnt himself for the McSweeney’s Pirate Supply Store in the Mission in San Francisco.

Kip and I began Saturday with a trip to the hazardous waste dump—not as exciting as the first time we went about a year ago, carting a 5 gallon jug of ethyl alchol and three car battries that the previous tenants had let behind. Then there was more cleaning and organizing of the basement before attending Mim’s Intellectual Love-in and then a now ex-coworker’s dinner party. Very low key, very fun.

Sunday there was more mellow socializing and, for me, much drawing. I’ve hopes of posting the first page of Chapter 2 of Dicebox by Friday, though I seem to have finalized the pencils for page 2 first. Ah well.

The weekend began nicely enough on Friday night with food, drink, and conversation with Christopher (and random run-ins with war protests, Critical Mass and a roving group of my co-workers)

Saturday was yardwork, some art, some writing and then off to Obi to meet Steve and Sara. After good sushi and bad jokes, we strolled to see the history of the Portland Seamen’s Bethel Building played out in twelve minutes in lights and shadows. Then off to Dante’s where, on the way, we were confronted with a walk signal that gave you a 20 second count down when the flashing red hand. Helpful and ominous, all at the same time.

The warm up act was Rubber Chicken Lollipop, an eclectic grouping of musicians and instruments—including a hybrid of a violin and a trumpet that sounded like a rich harmonica. They did a wonderfully sinister rendition of “Teddy Bear Picnic”.

Then came the sleazy carnival cabaret of Circus Contraption. I was surprised by how acrobatics usually performed many feet up come across as even more impressive done with a hoop or rope only six feet off the ground—and ten feet away from your table.

I was also impressed how they all could perform, juggle and sing in the smoky den that is Dante’s. Many good shows come to Dante’s, but sometimes I don’t have the energy or power to brave the smoke. I was struggling with it that night and had just blown my nose in a napkin when the MC, in a blood-splattered patriotic butcher’s outfit, started strolling towards me menacingly. He was in the midst of singing about the joys of dancing, dangling corpses. We engaged in a meaningful staring contest as he rolled up his sleeves and Steve laughed his delightfully loopy laugh. Then I endured his savage caress over my head before he took the napkin I had demurely folded in my lap, used it to cover my eyes and “snapped” my neck. I was very grateful my grandfather taught me how to use a handkerchief: that you should continuously fold it in.

But having my neck snapped didn’t even compare to my car attacking me the next day as I helped Kevin and Jenn move. The hydraulics are shot in the hatch of my hatchback—that and chance conspired to give me a blow to the back and then to the head. I don’t know if was upset with me over the repairs not being done yet or what. (It’s in the hands of God and insurance agencies, little car.)

Funny thing, is that Steve was there, too. And it seems to me that many of my latest bodily injuries seem to occur when he was around. Though I did sprain my ankle while I was by myself, making a drop off at FedEx. But, that office is very close to Mercury Studios. Hmmm…

You know, it just occurred to me that I sprained my left ankle at the beginning of summer and my right ankle at the end. Hope this isn’t some new weird ritual that I am going to go through every year.