Shut up, I know. This time I have an excuse.
Rather spur of the moment I got the chance to spend the week at a literacy institute at a local college, which is exciting and inspiring and exhausting. My boyfriend also came back after a week out of town, and we had dinner and went to see a performance of the podcast “Welcome to Night Vale,” which I had listened to twice. I think I’m sold on it now.
Me: “I was trying to explain to my work friends what I was seeing, and I said, ‘Well, it’s based on an H.P. Lovecraft story,’ and then they asked who that was, and I said he was a horror writer…and then I just trailed off and said, ‘It’s really my boyfriend’s thing.'”
Ben: “You could have said, ‘It’s like if NPR produced “Eerie, Indiana.”‘
Me: That will mean nothing to any of us. It means nothing to me. I’ll just tell them to Google it.
Maybe it means something to you? If so, that’s what Welcome to Night Vale is like. If not, Google it.
Here’s the benefit of blogging late: there was a musical guest who walked out looking like a Victorian woman in an insane asylum. (In a good way.) And she made creepy-sounding music on glockenspiels, and toy pianos, and autoharps. And, like, a jack-in-the-box. But she had a Disney voice! She should be belting out “Let It Go” or “A Whole New World” or something. So now I’ve discovered Eliza Rickman, and I bought “Devil’s Flesh and Bone” this morning, because I woke up at 4 AM today and decided I might as well just go to Starbucks, because obviously I’ll need it.
And thus a boring blog post that just said “I bought these songs just because I like them” was avoided.