Sometimes it's hard to tell the wishing from the well.

Podcasts were pretty clearly invented by the devil. Podcasts, blogs, facebook, email, all of it. Invented by the creepy androgynous floating creature in The Passion of the Christ.

Star lyrics I'm dying over:

"The rain fell hard on the roof that day.
You telephone from far away.
I see the ocean from my room.
All I could say was,
'Are you coming home soon?'

The static whispered in my ear
But in a moment your voice was clear.
'I need some time,' you said to me.
That's when I knew you were gonna make me lonely.

You were gonna make me wish for the time
Right before I was born, when every living breath
Was another new dawn.
Or the time I was five at the top of Peak Hill
And the wind almost took me away."


Seriously, them intrepid Canucks be crazy. And am I intentionally avoiding the subject? Am I stalling like a kid trying to write fifteen pages on a book he hasn't read? Probably, but my best papers have been about books I never read; let's be honest. Or, books I only half-read. (And because some of those papers were apparently pretty memorable, I won't name them. Because it would suck to disappoint certain high school teachers.) It's just that, where Clyde is concerned, there's a whole lot of "bursting into tears" involved. And I think I scared the guy working box at Festival Theater.

He deserved it.

"Do you have any Jackson Browne tickets left?"
"Yes, plenty!"
"Really? Wow, awesome. I'll be back this afternoon!"
"Wait -- I thought you said Ry Cooder. Jackson Browne is sold out."

It didn't even take thirty seconds. I was down then UP then crashed into the hard, cold earth like a Russian space shuttle. In what universe does "Jackson Browne" sound like "Ry Cooder"? I get it; they both cover Warren Zevon songs. That's not acceptable. So yes, my knees gave out and I instantly started crying. I could barely get out, "Oh-kay." He started to tell me that I could check back, but I'm pretty sure I had my "Other Ashley" face on by that point, and I looked murderous. Jesus Christ, I don't even remember the last time I had that face on. The one I don't control, that looks like someone who isn't me, the one that almost made me believe that I maybe had an evil twin. The face that my mother explained to Heidi as, "I can just see the moment of the change and I can't describe it. It's like Ashley is completely replaced by someone else. Someone evil."

I cried the entire walk back to my flat. I'm checking every day from now on.

At least I saw Lloyd before the news. Am I ashamed of my reaction? No, but he doesn't need to see that. I saw him as I walked TOWARD the theater, and there was a super-awkward "Not quite sure how to handle this and acknowledge you... I know I should, but, uh... Hi." moment. I'm just saying, my walks are always awkward, tears or no.



Josh Ritter is about the coolest cat around. I was listening to NPR's "All Songs Considered" interview with him and they ask him about looking audience members in the eye, and he just went off on a three minute ramble about Edward Hopper. Seriously, boy, why are you doing this to me? One of the best living songwriters, easy, and then you gotta go and bring it all back to art and windows and "Don't you want to know her story?" Not as much as I want to give you my ovaries? And then, later, he says, "When a baby smiles at you, it's proof that you exist," as a means of explaining what good music makes you feel.

Father. My. Children.

Aside from that, he's just very affable and sincere and I liked his story about potatoes that then led into "Temptation of Adam." ("What five letters spell apocalypse, she asked me./I won her over singing W-W-I-I-I and she smiled and we both knew that she'd misjudged me." So good, ferrilz.) And he's one of only two men I've ever listened to who can write songs about telling women to take off their clothing and not have it sound completely grimey. "You were naked as a window/But I'll take all that nothing/Over nothing at all."

Decidedly less charming? Jens Lekman. But is that really fair of me? Oh, who cares? I'm not his biggest fan and never would be. Though, he had one thing right. It sure was the opposite of hallelujah. (I'm assuming that was the message you wanted me to take away from Night Falls Over Kortedala, yeah?)


Now, Jakob -- Dylan, children, please, the only one that matters -- is sort of a rad little pistol. He played the Folk Festival this past August and I'm listening to the podcast of it (seriously, who needs to actually GO to shows anymore?) and how on Earth can you not laugh? First of all, Dylan. Newport. Legen -- wait for it, and I hope you're not lactose-intolerant because the second part of this word is -- dairy. [In desperate need of a new How I Met Your Mother.] And then he says, "I thought I'd do us all a favor and just begin with the acoustic guitar. And for those who are wondering, I couldn't make up my mind, so it is acoustic, but it does plug in." Trouble-makkar, I see what you did there. Clever boy.

"I was born in the summer of Sam, smaller and sooner than planned/In the spitting image of a man raised by wolves."

Daddy Dylan? I think my favorite Dylan song is pretty obviously "My Back Pages." The Joan Osbourne/Clyde cover version of that song for the "Steal My Movie" album is stellar.


Do you think that if I pull a "strategic hover" near the load-out things will just fall into place for me? If I stand at the load-out, where the trucks roll in? If I sniff all around it, like a half-grown female pup? If I'm not hard to talk to and look like I have no where to go, do you think they'll give me a pass so I can get in to see the show? What if I wear a badge saying, "Hello, my name is Rosie"? I do think that I would be obligated, then, to leave with the drummer. And we all know how I feel about drummers... (Wait, scratch that, Susannah -- exception to every rule, don't forget.) Saddest song he ever wrote, by his own admission.


Back to Scotland. Exam schedule is out and all my exams are the second week of May. Because we all know how well Ashley can multitask. After that, what will I do? Probably write, right? Adventure all over? Climb Arthur's Seat? Every. Single. Day. Work on pulling together my Div II, most likely, and getting myself organized for Div III. Working on my PC app, because apparently, April 1st is just the deadline if you want an on-campus interview before you leave for the summer. Maybe this was the wrong semester to go to Scotland. But you know what? There was never going to be a perfect time and this seems as good as any other, really.

Anyway, tonight Ashley and I went for fish and chips and got deep-fried Mars Bars. Because if I went to Alabama, I'd eat a deep-fried Twinkie. And I've decided that deep-fried Mars Bars are my new favorite food. Because it's chocolate. And grease. What part of that is a fail? Oh, hey, there's a Canoli Season type picture of me with my delicious treat, and it's probably the grossest picture ever taken of me. Needless to say, I love it. So here you go, some pictures of Mars Bars, and because I never got them up, the pictures of the imported snow from ages ago.

By the way, blame D for all the new updates. :)