There it is, Plain as Daylight

These won’t be anything profound or particularly coherent, but I thought I’d at least check in, since I think there are at least a couple of people waiting to see what I think of Fruits Basket.

Last night I finished volume ten, and I’ve paused at this point (SPOILERS AHEAD) Continue Reading »

Um. Apparently this has temporarily become a music blog. Back to the usual manga-talk and self-important essays soon, but first:

Last night, one of my very favorite bands, Northampton’s own Winterpills had a cd release party for their third album, Central Chambers at the Iron Horse Music Hall. It’s always great to see Winterpills at the Iron Horse, because they are able to bring up all their musical pals and create a really rich and exciting show. Last night was no exception.

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Yesterday began on a pretty depressing note. Groggy and cranky after a night of poor sleep, I noticed, just as I was about to leave for work, a kitchen full of inky footprints (which led to inky footprints in the living room, where a very inky dog sat chewing on an ink pen). Long story short, I arrived at work very late with ink-covered hands, and the day went downhill from there. Everything changed, however, at the end of the day, and I spent the evening being reminded of two very important truths:

1. People are awesome. Waiting for me when I returned home from work was an unexpected package from the very wonderful Deanna Gauthier, who sent me her entire collection of Fruits Basket manga, and the anime series as well! Now, this is a person I’ve only interacted with online, and the only reason we know each other at all is because she went to graduate school with a mutual friend. She lives way out west, we’ve never met, and yet here she’s sent me this big box of manga that I otherwise would not have the opportunity to read anytime soon. Deanna, you are incredibly generous, and seriously awesome. Thank you so much.

2. Music is awesome. The planned awesomeness for the evening, and the reason why I have not yet dipped into that marvelous box of manga, was a trip to Boston to see British singer-songwriter Tom McRae at Berklee College of Music’s Cafe 939. I’ve been a fan for a while, but this was my first time hearing Tom play live (Paul had seen him once before). The evening was even better than I’d imagined.

Tom McRae is somewhat known back at home, I believe, but horribly under-appreciated over here, and though the cafe has a nice sound system, and is very well-run, I was depressed to see that he’s playing such small venues in this area, and that even this place was not full. When my husband found out I’d be blogging about this concert today, he said, “Beg. Please beg.” And so I will. Tom McCrae does not have nearly enough fans in this part of the world, so please, follow the jump and allow me to beg your attention.

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This morning, I read a post by a good friend of mine, sistermagpie, over at LiveJournal, in which she talked about some conversations she’d seen recently revolving around whether academic analysis could ruin a person’s enjoyment of fiction. The crux of her post was that she couldn’t imagine that analyzing a story could ruin her love of reading, and when I first read her argument, I was in complete agreement. Wouldn’t analysis simply deepen my love for something, by helping me to fully understand and appreciate the depth of the material? Then I remembered my state of mind when I left the commercial theater business, and my brain said, “Oooooooh, that’s right.”

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