You are currently browsing the monthly archive for March, 2008.
save all of your light for those who can’t sleep at night….
After just booking a flight and flat for the night, I am feeling a little silly. My name is Whit ; I am from a very small town in Virginia but currently live in Florence, Italy. I’ve seen Mr. Ritter a few times in D.C., but had a minor spasm seeing that he was touring in the UK, as the majority of European music consists of screeching 16-minute club music from Ukrainian pop stars.
Anyone that would scoff at the idea of getting a train from Firenze to Pisa, flying to London, taking the train to St. Alban for the night for a 2 hour show then heading back to Italy has clearly not heard Mr. Ritter’s music. I can’t stress enough how absolutely worth it the trek will be.
Whoever opens this email must get a fascinating myriad of letters; I’ll spare tales of clichéd epiphany’s to “thin blue line” and times I’ve justified cutting and running with the lyrics from “wolves” and just ask that you pass along a sincere thank you. It is a pleasure to have Josh’s music as the soundtrack to my life.
All the best,
Whit
I feel like I have been in constant motion the last month and things are slowing down a bit. Visits to Amsterdam, Rome, Venice, Spain and Morocco have kept me in a rather constant state of flux but have been absolutely amazing. Just two months to go and a lot of great trips coming up-to Belgium, Cinqueterra, Elba, Vienna, Greece and Switzerland.
I’ll get Africa pictures up on flickr soon….Megan and Matt arrive for a week visit tomorrow. Straight rain for the seven days they are here, but I am thrilled they came.
Nights like this, when sleep is elusive, I wonder what Jonathan is doing. If he has left his wife in bed and padded into the kitchen avoiding cats strewn, careless in their sleep and papers stacked, old copies of the new york times that still carried his name. I pictured him rummaging through the refrigerator, the hunt for taste motivated by anything but hunger. Staring at the glaringly bright computer screen, secretly thinking the cursor is such a cunt. And it is. It flashes with metronomed condescendation.
Come.
On.
Write.
Something.
I’m.
Waiting.
It’s nights like this I wish he and I were actual friends, instead of scenarios of insomnia friends. I would be the placating voice on the other end of the receiver. “It’ll happen/critics are just that/use the pressure”
Nights like these, maybe it’s enough that I am here, thinking of him, cursing my own blinking cursor and hoping he knows that expectations are only set for those who can fulfill them.
Nights like this, I wish I could tell him about days like today. On the train, getting off at the stop, lazily surveying the crowd, I see a girl, in a yellow coat, holding a copy of everything is illuminated and just gape at her. She looked up and over the ping of “doors opening” and the rustle of bags and newspapers, we both get it.
I’m not a huge fan of the Will Ferrell washed-up sports movie kick, so it is lovely to see him get back to things that just look hilarious. I love that this is the kind of skit that would have killed on SNL.
Best trailer line? “Did we just become best friends?”
