how much happier could i be? seated not four feet from the stage as Passim's, where JWH will be on shortly, with a mild buzz from a good Chardonnay (altho not my regular, as he deviously switched me over to the Solax rather than Louis Macon), having spent the last hour and a half in one of my fave bars reading Gregory MacGuire's newest book, Lost, after a productive afternoon wherein i bought an old/new camera (new one to replace the old one that was stolen) at a dirt cheap price, which was the substitution for the television i meant to get, but which earl pointed out would be on sale soon - and either of those would have been the reward for an afternoon of driving well done, driving on side streets and highways, on hills up and down, hills big and small, where i could see the cars behind me and wave them past (which part of the hazard lights do none of you get?), and hills steep enough that i couldn't see the road behind me, hills so steep i learned about torque and downshifting, driving where i did so many things right, unconsciously, after sleeping late and well.
*phew* that was one long sentence. incomplete, at that. it took up nearly a whole page of the paper journal.
i was hoping to meet JWH, in a non-fannish sort of way. and it sort of worked. i was hanging around outside the club before the show and suddenly he was standing next to me, (god! he's my height! and so much greyer than the last time i saw him! but still yummy.) bumming a cig off me. like any good Zippo owner, i went to light it for him, and he waved me off, saying he'd come out halfway thru the opening set to have it.
this led to me doing all sorts of convoluted computations and ducking out again later, only to find that i had missed him by a mile. ah well. and i didn't have a chance to ask him out for a beer afterwards, as he was busily autographing CDs for a bevy of fans.
still and all, it was a lovely show. at one point, he was telling one of his famously long stories and swore, then looked mortified, and said 'oh, crap. there are speakers outside, aren't there?' (imagine that with a bonny English accent, if you would.) they pipe the show out on to the street, and you can see, thru the huge plate glass windows, the pedestrians wandering by on the sidewalk up above. 'the dog looks really pissed off, right about now.' heh.
for peg: the set list as best as i can construct it. some songs are new, with no titles. others are older, but i couldn't remember the titles, so i subbed in lyrics. and a few were covers of traditional tunes, not even on Trad. Arr. Jones.
hung out for a little after that, and then cabbed it home. the goal for tomorrow? i fully intend to sleep as late as possible, and not to get out of my pajamas.