I am wondering why it is that Van Morrison only sounds hot, but is not really all that good looking. If I could grind myself in a really embarrassing drunken manner up against the rich tones of Tupelo Honey, I would. But my lord. I'd write something even more descriptive, but I am plagued by thoughts of, "What if Van Morrison one day googles his name, and comes across my blog, and reads this, and then is EMOTIONALLY SHATTERED FOR THE REST OF TIME?"

(This has happened before. Not with anyone even technically, remotely famous, but once, I wrote in my diaryland journal about a "B-Movie Book" I had purchased, and how god awful it was (it was) and the author contacted me to ask me what was wrong with his book. I didn't know what to say, so I sent him an email back that contained no capital letters and fractured sentences in the hopes he'd think I was retarded.)

(And then I realized, wait a minute. That's how I always write my emails.)

Some great news for today! First of all, I have an appointment today with my new doctor. From all accounts he is shades of McDreamy, so I'm a little embarrassed about the concept of talking about ANYTHING even vaguely relating to my body with him. I used to have a doctor who I'd book appointments with, and he was a lovely man, but hand to God, we'd spend the entire appointment time discussing books we enjoyed reading because God forbid I find the nerve to even bring up the fact I even have breasts with him. (Which is probably good considering he was a neurologist.)

Secondly, and even more fantastic, my cousin Mike is coming to visit today! The house is a disaster because we've decided to flip around the office. My dreamy boyfriend came over last night and assembled furniture for me, which is fantastic, because while I have the intelligence needed to piece together Ikea furniture, I cannot handle when things do not fit together right, and end up hulk smashing them into place. Seriously, the top three ways to piss me off: pull my hair, use a buzzer on your alarm to wake me up in the morning, and WHERE IS THE FUCKING SCREW AND WHY WON'T THIS FIT, IKEA?

Anyways, despite the disaster zone that is our home, I'm super excited to see Mike, who I haven't seen since last year when we rocked my going away party in Masset together.


Finally, because I have to get ready and shave my legs for my doctor, I'm still toying with the idea of switching over to Wordpress, and after seeing some of the fantastic wordpress themes available (and especially their awesome usability) I think I may try and switch everything over as soon as possible, just as a test. So, if you come back some time in the next week or so and things look lame, please just understand that I've tried the Wordpress theme, got frustrated, have gone for a nap, and will be back eventually to sort it all out.

Labels: Family, Music, Sarah Land

I think I might have said it all in my title line.

Like, "Hey Neighbours. My Han Solo tshirt is so awesome that it doesn't even require pants."

I am dog and house sitting tonight. The wind is howling and it's been raining all day, and the house is very, very quiet, except for the occasional snuffle of a poodleish puppy, the tiny little waddle of a Norwich Terrier that looks kind of like a delightful footstool, and the gentle snores of a petite moppish type dog who bites your ankle when you try and leave the house.

Tonight is much quieter than last night, where in I SAW RADIOHEAD IN CONCERT. I also wore my crocs to the concert, and then squeaked obnoxiously the entire way home. Welcome to the Sounds of Vancouver at Night: Traffic, Random Wet Stabbings, Marijuana, Sarah Sovereign's Poor Choice In Footwear.

Radiohead was tremendous. It's probably the biggest concert I've ever been to, unless you count Nsync, which I'm not. Even though Justin Timberlake broke out a really great run on solo to express how God Must Have Spent a Little More Time On Me. And he totally did. Like, thanks God for that thing I can do with a toothpick, some string and five cottonballs.

Watching the sea of people in front of the stage was amazing... as was sitting in front of the douchebag who spent the entire concert going, "Oh my God. Thom Yorke is going to... oh.. oh he is Alice! He IS going to play Paranoid Android! Oh God. OhGodOhGodOhGodThomYorke. SUPERB! HE IS A GOD. I knew he was going to play this. BECAUSE OF OUR UNSPOKEN CONNECTION."

I saw Feist a couple of weeks ago, and she knocked my socks off as well. She had everyone sing as Merpeople in Deer Lake Park, thereby confirming that she is just pretty darn fantastic. I bought a tshirt at the concert which I wore consecutively for like, three days after because I'm awesome. I changed into it at the concert inside of a dirty port-a-potti, which teetered threateningly. But hey. It's a Feist tshirt. Even tipped over inside a port-a-potti, I'm wearing the shit out of that fine garment. ... Or not.

I decided in that moment that I would start collecting tshirts from all of the concerts I attend, up until the minute I went to the store booth at Radiohead and discovered the tshirts there were fifty dollars and I can barely afford like, an expired, half opened kid sized Apple Juice found in the discount bin of a Salvation Army. Luckily, I see nothing wrong with making my own impressive Radiohead tshirt with an old white tshirt and a Mr. Sketch marker.

Neko Case is going to Vancouver in early September... I haven't bought tickets yet, but I'm thinking about it.

Labels: Adventures in Babysitting, Music