  Death Cab for Cutie will be in Spokane next weekend! I am beside myself. It will be an excellent way to bond with Joey, who will serve as my partner-in-rock for the evening. Coupled with the fact that Ben Gibbard’s voice is like butter (or urlLink Earth Balance for those of us who are Vegan) and I’ll be spending some drug-free time with my brother, I couldn’t be more excited.
Tonight will be the Jewel concert, and I feel a need to immediately defend her whenever I bring it up. It is an acoustic tour. She will have left her synthesizer at home. Pieces of You remains a very good album, people. And her music videos, although they enjoyed main-stream success and heavy MTV play, were highly conceptual and artsy in the later 90s.
That, and there really isn’t anything else to do tonight. ---------------------------------------- I am currently in the process of nurturing the life of another. His name in Neeley, after Francie’s brother of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn . He is several weeks old, about four inches tall and has issues with unquenchable thirst. Oh yes, and he is a plant. I love him dearly. Taking after countless brigades of 4th grade science experiments, I play him music. Whether or not this stimulates growth, I have no idea. But I have noticed he seems partial to The Shins.
Go figure. ---------------------------------------- Last year, I thought I was falling in love with urlLink this boy . I have a feeling that this might be another case of my lack of gaydar. Good lord . That’s three times now. And in a city where less than .5% of the population is homosexual, I seem to have extraordinary bad luck. I pretty much hate it when Robin feels the need to efface our relationships with the male population. It seems that I am either hit on by anonymous assholes or by boys who spend their free time with a stack of sticky Playboys .
I am not going to pretend that I wouldn’t like a boyfriend. But the thing is, I can’t see myself with anyone who thinks that System of a Down is progressive, or whose definition of being literate is leafing through Rolling Stone . Religion and reality aside, there is the sex issue, too. I don’t want “ Oh my god, I am so horny, so lets fuck ” back-seat immemorial mistakes. I want tender, soft, over-the-moon, catch my breath, love making . Maybe I don’t serial date for a Dr. Phil reason; rejection issues, paranoia, fear of intimacy.
But I think it’s more because I have raised myself on When Harry Met Sally and My So-Called Life . I can’t decide whether or not this is good for me. One day I might wake up and find that I’m ( gasp! ) thirty, and have ignored men because I am waiting for Prince Charming to roll up in his Hybrid and sweep me off my feet.
But the scarier thought is the later. What if I skip to the chapel with the first man who claims to love me? What if I settle for a man who doesn’t make my heart flutter, who doesn’t make me laugh, who reads Maxium ? And then, again at thirty, the picture will be me, rushed into a loveless marriage, watching All My Children all day, and wondering if my husband is cheating on me? Affectionately… Anna 
