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show day, friday... a bittersweet thang. Too little sleep, to little preparation... a drawer full of new music to take the sting away. Another sting, though... AstroGrrl leaves for NYC. For good. I wonder what could have been, had things progressed earlier. Funny, how things change when someone looks you directly in the eyes when they speak... and they hadn't before. Something twangs in the back of your skull from the connection. A small jolt of electricity... straight down the spine. The farewell hug was nice... ...too many farewells, lately. After, we met up with the Haole: architect friend, Hawaiian music lover, fresh from a divorce... with his new flame. She chose a tapas bar for the rendezvous (i was more inclined towards a pub), worth the experience. I think the translation means, "hors d'oeuvres at six bucks a pop." Fifty bucks, and i was still hungry. What price experience? Biggles showed up, echoing my sentiment, sotto voce: "a bit trendy, int' it?" A conjunction of friends, anyway. Saturday... to DC. Five hours later than it should have been. Miss Jane said she'd wake me, early for a Saturday. It turned out to mean 10:30AM... she'd crawled off to bed at eleven, the evening before. The girl can hibernate. To the metro station at 2. Above, then below ground. Reemerging close to the White House... winding our way through the photo-ops at the Ellipse. More interesting than the view was the knot of people, elbowing their way to the fence for portraits. What a shot that would make: friends and loved ones/iron fence/the President's rental, behind. Hot streets... little escape from the overhead sun... sweaty to the museum with the F. L. Wright artglass.
An oasis. Glass. Light. Color. This speaks to me. Bauhaus/the Orient/Mondrian. For the house. Hmmm... need to check out the art school for this. A long walk down the metamorphosing concrete of F Street.  Haute couture/cuisine; trendy bookstores; blasted out storefronts; wig stores; hip hop nightclubs; the remains of the old 9:30; the museum of Espionage (ringed with tourists). Miss Jane runs out of gas.What's a man to do? Lead her back to the train, and feed her... so she can fall asleep on the way home. Yep... it's a bittersweet thang.
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