I went to see Scout Niblett at the Mississippi Studios Friday night. She was like an anti-Johanna Newsome. She sang with a straight-forward US accent but talked with an English baby lisp voice. Her music reminded me of Jack White and Patti Smith. I felt lucky to have Suzy to come with me.

I feel like I've circled back to two years ago to start over, but without the ability to get ripped.

I still like the music on my iPod. It feels fresh and meaningful. My mind and it's container not so much.

I'm noticably in the red financially, even with a gift from my parents.

While this knowledge registers in my brain as a message to cut down on spending, it registers in my behavior as a spurt of credit card purchases out of worry that soon buying will come to an end (which is ridiculous). But also of obligations remembered.

Someone suggested that it would be foolish to pass on the last orgy of the Roman Empire, but that person is very cynical.

Yesterday morning I picked up a bunch of trash in the park. I've been collecting things there for a collage since I moved here two years ago. This time there was so much trash I threw some out. At one site there were the remains of two people hanging out: an almost full pack of smokes with one turned upside down for good luck, some cigarette butts, change, mostly pennies and a spiral ear thing. In another area there was an empty Hormel canned meat (spam?) container and parts of the label.

Later yesterday someone gave me a free ticket to see the Decemberists in Pioneer Square. I don't think I'll recount the whole affair, but the September 11th concert underneath the newly securitized Pioneer Courthouse seemed to me to be an example of what is wrong with the USA post-911. I don't blame the musicians.

I left the show before it was over to see an Irish guy named C something Lovett perform a Beckett story called First Love. It kind of pissed me off. I don't blame the actor.

There are rocking chairs here at the Saint Louis airport. The drinks here are overpriced.

But the museums in the park are free.

Moon River

Was playing when I first wrote to describe this rooftop bar scene. I may have lost tha t post. It said I'm soaking up sun, beer, chips and tapenade. The women are mostly wearing black and white, with spots of red, pink and purple interspersed around.

I've been reading Wonder Boys since June. I'm up to 3 am on the first day of the story. That Grady Tripp gets into ba lot of scrapes.

Now Dancing in the Moonlight is playing. I love this song.

Moon over St. Louis

Is there ever; big, golden, round moon. Checking into the hotel alone feels weird. Everything is moons here with a few stars. I'm in between the Redd Foxx and the Tennesee Williams suites. I've got two hours on the folks here and I slept on the flight from Chicago but I'm hesitant to go out. I'm not accustomed to the vibe here yet. I've unpacked. To retire to a book or tv seems lame.

I don't have a plan for Nick. He doesn't get here until tomorrow night.

On the conference, people followed one person's story about dropping his kid off at college with their menories of getting to Reed. The early adult undergrad experience feels so formative. But what is formed? I became a mother of a new generation but I feel like a kid.

Noticing travelling couples I remembered what it is like to have a partner to consult with and bicker. Now I bicker with myself by motoblur smart phone.

After a while of being nervous and not eating, I've been on a bit of binge lately. Ice cream, cheesy sandwiches, pasta, red vines and lots of sunflower seeds.

I haven't had a drink in several days and feel like in the absense of alcohol I'm getting bloated. The idea of a cabbage fast sounds appealing.

I'm behind on some things and when that happens, I tend to look around at all the other things to do and have a hard time starting anything.

Since my last big CD buying spree and the lost glasses stupid tax, I've been spending money on other people which is OK I guess. There isn't anything pressing on my wish list.

I'm getting a little anxious about the Pickathon. Typical for me to look forward to something for a long time and then get cold feet as it approaches.