hannah

Earlier today, I overheard someone saying that she ate "like a pig" last night, largely for her having eaten ice cream. I wanted to make a joke about acorns or truffles, but decided against it on the grounds that I knew she wouldn't know what I was talking about.

It did get me thinking, though, and it had me fairly pleased to find out that acorn ice cream is a thing people do - not on any commercial scale, but individual restaurants and kitchens. I'd thought it might taste malty, and all the descriptions provided agree with that.

I highly doubt I'll get a chance to try it anytime soon, but knowing it already exists is good enough for tonight.

Two things I like to see in my TV shows: women who are allowed to get justifiably angry, and women who are allowed to eat. They're not the greatest things about Rome, but they're up there.

Walking back to my place instead of taking a bike, I spotted a cardinal in the park, perching inside the flowering cherry blossoms. A male, easily identified, a darker red than the surrounding pinks, and it fit very nicely in with all the petals. I thought to take a moment to rummage through my bag and grab my phone, then decided not to bother. I stood and listened a bit, and felt satisfied with that. I took note of the last lilacs and magnolias, and felt satisfied with those.

It didn't last, but it was nice in the moment.

Thanks to neighbors moving out of their apartments, not only do I have enough laundry pods to last at least another six months, I've got more lentils than I know what to do with. No, really. There's six kinds of lentils in my apartment right now, not counting the dried chickpeas, unroasted peanuts, and dried red beans. It's going to be the summer of lentils. My strategy's going to be to work through the smaller amounts first before moving onto the larger ones - there's enough red lentils for one or two meals, but the green ones will keep me fed for weeks.

I'm checking the usual websites, looking through my cookbook shelf, thinking of how to make them interesting and palatable when I'll be eating so much of them. I figure that once I'm done with Rome, a dive through the rest of Steven Spielberg's movies should be good enough distraction to carry the lentils those last few days when I don't want to pay too much attention to what I'm having for lunch.

I've also got some quinoa and rice and black soybeans, if I want to shake things up somewhat. Farro, too, down in a bag somewhere.

It got sticky enough today to warrant the tower fan for cooling purposes. It's not even May. The day wasn't helped by the very little sleep I got last night, so between the fallout nausea and the heat, very little got done.

But, on the plus side, the home transcription gig's been given the go-ahead to more or less be a temporary full-time job, so I may take that as the smallest possible win.

Not even two minutes after I get back to my apartment, I hear rain start coming down.

I always love it when that happens.

You know it's a good concert when you need two days to recover. I didn't do a lot of dancing because it got pretty packed at the end, but I did my share. At first, there was some worry about it filling up, but then I found out there were two opening acts and it made more sense. I didn't give up my spot right up front at the stage, though. There wasn't any taking me away from that.

I was the twelfth person in line about 15 minutes before doors opened. I chatted some with the people in front of me and the person behind me about things like subway lines, the last round of Voxtrot concerts about three years ago, the round about 16 years before that, how the average age of Bruce Springsteen fans stays consistent because he keeps getting new fans, stuff like that. I had to pass through a metal detector and said, "No pockets, no problem." Waiting for the floor to open, several people ahead of me got their phones scanned, but somehow I got skipped over. I waited for it and then was told we could walk right in. So I went up front row center, if there were rows. Center stage, certainly. Right in the middle.

I took pictures of people on request and kept chatting. One of the women to my left kept checking social media and I had to ask her, "Does it spark joy?" One of the men to my right was glad I reminded him of the Artemis splashdown, which was why during the first songs of the first opening act, on a cell phone propped up against a speaker, we watched the last four minutes of the mission, every parachute accounted for. It had me feeling a lot of things, and I still need to sit with it.

The first opening act was a four-person jam band, kind of like Explosions in the Sky meets Bon Iver. The second opening act was one man with a guitar, and because I was right up front, when he mentioned how nobody knew where Halifax was, he heard me when I exclaimed, "The Maritimes!"

There was some waiting. There was judging on when to go to the bathroom, the etiquette of saving spots, the general vibe of everyone being there for the same reason. There was some chatting about travel plans and museums and software engineering and public transportation infrastructure. I saw someone put out the setlists and didn't look on purpose so I'd be surprised. I chatted some more to keep myself distracted, and then I saw Voxtrot come out. I'd seen the first two opening acts come in and go out through a side door to the stage so I knew where to look. I kept checking, and I saw some light coming through.

And I saw the silhouette of a man whose work I've loved for years.

He introduced himself and his band. He talked about playing the same location about 20 years ago. I looked behind myself to take in the audience in the soft blue-white light, just a glimpse of all the happy faces behind me, around me, surrounding me on the dance floor and the flanking wings and the mezzanine. Then I looked at the stage and didn't look away. There wasn't anywhere else to look.

We all sang along. We all knew the words and more than a few times, I realized I was hearing the crowd just as much as the lead singer. I sang and shouted, I swayed, I moved a bit, and then I started dancing as much as I could on a packed floor. Jumping up and down, rocking my arms, pumping my fists in the air, not a lot of stuff moving back and forth or forward and back, but in the unit of space I had, I made the most of it. A few times I wondered if I was given more space because of my braid swinging around. Then I stopped wondering and kept on dancing. Having the stage to brace myself against meant I could seriously jump. Being so close meant I could see everything as it was happening, and it was a thrill to be so close I could feel the music just as much as I heard it.

They played some new songs and a bunch of old ones. They went pretty far back, going all the way to the first song on their first EP to the last song on the latest album, so they really ran through everything. They played the hits and they played the songs they'd come around to knowing were hits all along - all killer no filler, as the saying goes. The energy was carefully cultivated, building everyone up to make sure that when they ended on a party note, a big-sound song for dancing, we would go home with spirits running high. They talked about where songs had been written, how the tunes developed, and one of the best things about live bands is seeing how it's all done. Hearing a specific set of notes and seeing the guitarist or the bassist or the drummer make those notes as I watch, looking at their hands on their instruments and putting it all together that yes, it's human hands all along.

The band danced up on stage, jumping around or simply grooving to it. There were a couple songs where the singer conducted the audience's clapping along, and it was clear all five of them meant everything they were doing. They were having a grand time up there and played in both senses, the musical and the fun.

I didn't get a chance to print the ticket, so after the encore, I grabbed a setlist. I made it back just before midnight, grabbing pizza to eat with ice cream to get my body to slow down some and some high proof bourbon I've had saved for a very special occasion because I couldn't think of an occasion more special than seeing Voxtrot.

I'd very much like to rant about an article I saw in The New York Times Magazine about people trying to get away from smartphones, except it'd boil down to my firm hypothesis they'd achieve the same result by taking the internet off the smart phone. If the apps don't work, you can't get a quick hit of anything. I still don't understand how that manages to be the default for pretty much everyone else and how other people's phones can't also be set to only get internet access when they're logged into a network. It's baffling.

I suppose to ask what goes into making this possible is to get the answer that it's built into the settings with few people bothering to change them, or even consider that as something which could be done - and that cellular data roaming functions aren't something people think to play around with, either.

Who benefits from this is very much the people pushing for the constant immediate gratification and ongoing distractions.

What's the desired outcome is the reliance on the smartphone as distraction device, giving attention and money, rather than a useful tool that can be modified as desired by the owners and end-users.

As I said I would, I'm now starting Rome. I figure it's two seasons, I can breeze through it easily enough before moving onto other TV shows or another few movies.

Two minutes in, and I'm starting to suspect I'm going to need a few breaks to come up for air on account of the sensation of getting present-day news through prescient art.

Every three months, I swap my sheet set. Living alone and showering daily means I don't need to change my sheets more than once every two weeks, and they get swapped out for the next set every three months. Four in total. It's not quite one-to-one with the seasons, but the sentiment's close enough.

In doing the laundry, I found out two of the machines were broken. Someone else was trying to use them, and without either of us knowing what was happening - the spin cycle's not working for the moment - I suggested she try seeing if it'd work to press the main "on" button again. It ran through another cycle without paying, stopping at the point it'd otherwise spin. I'd suspected as much, so I came prepared. I went to the laundry room with an extra roll of quarters because I know how much of a pain in the ass sopping laundry is, and any feelings of having even accidentally contributed to that to someone were ones I wanted to banish through direct action. Which was why I had the extra roll: I gave them to the person who'd been unfortunate enough to use the machine a second time, on my suggestion. She was agog, astonished, and after loading up a working machine, offered to give me back the $3.25 she hadn't used.

"Buy yourself a cup of coffee," I said.

Up late last night into this morning; it wasn't so bad walking a couple of blocks instead of trying inter-borough transit. If I'd had anything more than a couple of errands today, I'd have minded getting a late start in the morning. As I didn't, that part worked out, too.

I got a call from one of the group therapy places, who told me - to no surprise - that given the conversation we had, a more individualized approach would probably be better. I'm willing to give it some dubious benefit of the doubt, though I still bristle at the idea of a "career coach." Or any kind of coach, really, given that I don't play a sport. Getting coaching on anything besides that doesn't strike me as something useful.