Following our child heavy adventure at the aquarium, we took a seat at an outdoor bar in Quincy Market to get our drink on. The day was getting hot and our walking and museum going had left us a little parched. Quincy Market is basically the same as the South Street Seaport here in NYC, designed for tourists, dominated by over-priced chains, and full of people that you are deadly certain that you are cooler than...but it still has it's seaport town charm. And you can't knock a margarita on the boardwalk on a hot day.
After we finished our drink we walked back to the hotel. Though Anand and I weren't particularly interested, Skip, the younger Singh brother was curious to see the Cheers bar (Which is actually called The Bull and the Finch) so we walked back via Commonwealth Ave. After a bit of circuitous walk we found ourselves in front of the famous sign only to find a line of people coming out the door. Both Anand and I had been to the bar on previous trips, and assured Skip that A) it was just a bar and B) the inside looked nothing like the show, and that C) there was no way we were going to wait in line to get into a bar on a Saturday afternoon.
Finally, we swung back to our hotel for a brief late afternoon respite before our evening plans would kick in...
Back in 1995 Uncle Bob Pollard wanted to record arena rock, and by God if the powers that be were not going to let him do it on their terms he'd do it on his own. Auditorium is one of the charming mid-90's lo-fi attempts at said arena rock that GBV would make a name for themselves on. Of course, 4 years later, Pollard would get a chance to record this type of music the way he wanted to and we'd all come to realize that we preferred it when he had to improvise with a cassette recorder in his garage. Just think of what a shitty movie Jaws would have been if Spielberg could have gotten that fucking shark to work.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Auditor - Britt Daniel/Brian Reitzell - Stranger Than Fiction(OST) - 2006
We ate lobster rolls on the water at a place called The Chart House, which I gather was at one time John Hancock's counting house. The history nerd in me couldn't help but be amused by this fact. We sat outside, next to a family gathering of sorts. There were two older parents, with their adult son and his girlfriend/wife/fiancee and an additional man who I think was the other son, but who said very little. In fact most of them said very little, save for the daugher in law (or whatever) who did not shut up through the entire meal. Her father in law, clearly detested her and would occassionally attempt to talk to the men about the Red Sox, only for her to dominate the conversation the whole time.
The thing that always baffles me about people who talk loudly and constantly in public, is that they seem completely unaware that they are broadcasting information about themselves to everyone around them. They are giving everyone ample opportunity to judge them...and generally with this type of person, there is plenty to judge. This woman was clearly shallow and materialistic, petty and amused by awful things. She told a story about how as a child they'd take vacations where her family would drive an RV to a destination only to sleep in the hotel. It never seemed to occur to her that this might make her appear pampered and awful. She never thought of these things, all she could think of was how wonderful it was to have people listening to her, to be the center of attention...regardless of whether that attention was meritted. The arrival of her food did not stop her verbal diaherria.
Following our meal, we went to the Aquarium, standing in line for nearly 1/2 an hour to get tickets. Nearly a decade in NYC has made me forget a truth about museums of any type in American places that are not NYC, a lesson I should have remembered from my trip to DC. NYC, due to it's booming tourism industry and self appointed need to be seen as a cultural epicenter, regards its museums with a sort of European air. Museums are places where adults go to be edified about culture or educated about science. Museums in any other American city are places you take your kids so you can pretend you are doing something "educational"
The Aquarium itself was impressive, with it's central cone of water with a descending ramp wrapped around it and individual exhibits on the oppossing wall. The problem is, you couldn't get anywhere near these exhibits due to the sheer mass of children between you and what you'd want to see. Being polite, I'd stand aside and wait for a group of kids to clear...as soon as they did I'd step up and look at what I wanted to see...only for another group of kids to decide that the space between me and the glass was a place they could stand to get a better view...never mind that someone else was there first and viewing the fish. After about 45 minutes we gave up...there was just no way the kids were going to be polite, and no way that we were going to get to see what we want. With a few exceptions, it was $21 down the drain. If I had wanted to be annoyed by children, I could have just gone to Park Slope for the day.
Listening to these songs in alphabetical order means that I have heard this brief instrumental, performed by Britt Daniel of Spoon on the Stranger Than Fiction soundtrack, several times immediately following "Audience with the Pope"...the problem is that for the first few listens, I assumed that this was just an outro to the previous song. It actually works really well, in fact I think they are even in the same key and the same basic tempo. What is ultimately a coincidence of the alphabet and my particular tastes makes sure that "Audience..." well always sound a bit too brief without it's "Outro".
The thing that always baffles me about people who talk loudly and constantly in public, is that they seem completely unaware that they are broadcasting information about themselves to everyone around them. They are giving everyone ample opportunity to judge them...and generally with this type of person, there is plenty to judge. This woman was clearly shallow and materialistic, petty and amused by awful things. She told a story about how as a child they'd take vacations where her family would drive an RV to a destination only to sleep in the hotel. It never seemed to occur to her that this might make her appear pampered and awful. She never thought of these things, all she could think of was how wonderful it was to have people listening to her, to be the center of attention...regardless of whether that attention was meritted. The arrival of her food did not stop her verbal diaherria.
Following our meal, we went to the Aquarium, standing in line for nearly 1/2 an hour to get tickets. Nearly a decade in NYC has made me forget a truth about museums of any type in American places that are not NYC, a lesson I should have remembered from my trip to DC. NYC, due to it's booming tourism industry and self appointed need to be seen as a cultural epicenter, regards its museums with a sort of European air. Museums are places where adults go to be edified about culture or educated about science. Museums in any other American city are places you take your kids so you can pretend you are doing something "educational"
The Aquarium itself was impressive, with it's central cone of water with a descending ramp wrapped around it and individual exhibits on the oppossing wall. The problem is, you couldn't get anywhere near these exhibits due to the sheer mass of children between you and what you'd want to see. Being polite, I'd stand aside and wait for a group of kids to clear...as soon as they did I'd step up and look at what I wanted to see...only for another group of kids to decide that the space between me and the glass was a place they could stand to get a better view...never mind that someone else was there first and viewing the fish. After about 45 minutes we gave up...there was just no way the kids were going to be polite, and no way that we were going to get to see what we want. With a few exceptions, it was $21 down the drain. If I had wanted to be annoyed by children, I could have just gone to Park Slope for the day.
Listening to these songs in alphabetical order means that I have heard this brief instrumental, performed by Britt Daniel of Spoon on the Stranger Than Fiction soundtrack, several times immediately following "Audience with the Pope"...the problem is that for the first few listens, I assumed that this was just an outro to the previous song. It actually works really well, in fact I think they are even in the same key and the same basic tempo. What is ultimately a coincidence of the alphabet and my particular tastes makes sure that "Audience..." well always sound a bit too brief without it's "Outro".
Audience with the Pope - Elbow - The Seldom Seen Kid - 2008
After a bit of a sleep in the Singh bros and I were up and out the door before noon, and we couldn't have asked for a more beautiful day. 87 degrees, no humidity, a perfect ocean breeze and not a cloud in the sky greeted us when we walked out the hotel door. Our first activity for the day was the Aquarium, and we decided that there would be no better way to get there than to walk across town on this beautiful day.
If you didn't get a chance to read my European adventure from February, then I probably should explain again that I love to walk...and if possible would rather walk somewhere even if the distance seems greater than your average car loving American would normally go. Our hotel to the Aquarium was about 4.5 miles...no sweat.
We walked down Commonwealth Ave and across Boston Commons stopping for the occasional photograph or people watching moment. For all the negative things I could say about the city of Boston, there is absolutely no arguing with the fact that it is a really beautiful city. My very first visit to Boston was for Thanksgiving in 2002, a holiday that was accompanied by an early ice/snowstorm. While on many levels that particular trip was absolutely fucking miserable, I will always remember the beauty of the city covered in crystalline ice...and now I was here at the opposite time of year, with the city decked in green leaves and sunshine and looking just as lovely.
We took small detours, swinging by the site of the actual Boston Massacre (a rather unassuming circle on a cobblestone street) and down the market before we reached the water, to enjoy the full force of that ocean breeze and the sun reflecting off the water. Some days, it's just impossible not to love the world.
Sweet crooning from Elbow's rather impressive latter day output. Good stuff.
If you didn't get a chance to read my European adventure from February, then I probably should explain again that I love to walk...and if possible would rather walk somewhere even if the distance seems greater than your average car loving American would normally go. Our hotel to the Aquarium was about 4.5 miles...no sweat.
We walked down Commonwealth Ave and across Boston Commons stopping for the occasional photograph or people watching moment. For all the negative things I could say about the city of Boston, there is absolutely no arguing with the fact that it is a really beautiful city. My very first visit to Boston was for Thanksgiving in 2002, a holiday that was accompanied by an early ice/snowstorm. While on many levels that particular trip was absolutely fucking miserable, I will always remember the beauty of the city covered in crystalline ice...and now I was here at the opposite time of year, with the city decked in green leaves and sunshine and looking just as lovely.
We took small detours, swinging by the site of the actual Boston Massacre (a rather unassuming circle on a cobblestone street) and down the market before we reached the water, to enjoy the full force of that ocean breeze and the sun reflecting off the water. Some days, it's just impossible not to love the world.
Sweet crooning from Elbow's rather impressive latter day output. Good stuff.
An Audience of One - The Swords Project - Entertainment Is Over, If You Want It - 2003
We had the cab drop us off at the first stop on my list for "Southie", a place called The Blackthorn Bar only to find that it was pretty close to dead. So we walked a short distance over to another bar called The Junction which had some life to it.
As an Irish-American, I had always had a sort of morbid curiosity about South Boston. To me, the Southie's are an embarrassing cousin...with their "Yo, brah we're going out on a pissa and getting wicked retarded" lingo and attitude, they seem to have inherited absolutely none of James Joyce's DNA and an over abundance of Colin Ferrel's (only with even less class). To me, this was a bit like visiting my cousins who live in a trailer park (Which I also have)...but the experience was by and large not what I expected.
The problem you see, is that Boston is such a college town. Despite it's hallowed place in American History, it's supposed rivalry with NYC and it's abundance of my peoples, Boston primarily serves as the location of Harvard, MIT, BU, Northeastern, and BC and as such, it's bars are designed to appeal to college kids. Cheap pitchers and beer pong tables are the order of the day, waitresses in jean skirts and frizzy hair are the norm. So, I went in expecting little Dublin, and instead was treated to a Northern version of Chapel Hill.
We pulled a waitress over in The Junction to help get the lay of the land, but then were stuck with her for the night as she thought I was hitting on her. So, we put down our beers and made our way to the next location, a bar with the rather tony name of "The Playwright" only to find it largely the same vibe. It was quickly apparent that we were going to be in for an evening of college style bars, and while slightly more adult, The Farragut House was only a slight improvement.
After that, we took a walk down by the water to work off some of the beer wait. The last stop on the list was a place called Murphy's Law, which I had been told was a must check out. We approached the bar at 10 minutes till 1 and heard the roar of a crowd. A trio of people, 2 women and a man walked a few yards behind us and had been behind us for several blocks. As we neared the door, the bouncer stuck his head out and told us the bar was closed...only to allow the 3 behind us right in. The Singhs were convinced this was racism, which might be true, but I was more on the side of it being about getting more women in. Either way, our night in Southie was done...with very little Irish culture absorbed and very little to write home about.
The Swords Project is currently a band called simply Swords. I heard their second album (First with that name) a few years back and had a brief infatuation with it, and decided to check out the first album. Much like their moniker, their songs used to be much longer (This one clocks in at over 10 minutes), and while I still enjoy the sounds they produce, I must say I drastically prefer the shorter more refined songs on the Swords album. Even with their whiny Indie-boy voice singer given a more prominent role, the shorter songs have a stronger since of melody and use the atmospherics to greater effect.
As an Irish-American, I had always had a sort of morbid curiosity about South Boston. To me, the Southie's are an embarrassing cousin...with their "Yo, brah we're going out on a pissa and getting wicked retarded" lingo and attitude, they seem to have inherited absolutely none of James Joyce's DNA and an over abundance of Colin Ferrel's (only with even less class). To me, this was a bit like visiting my cousins who live in a trailer park (Which I also have)...but the experience was by and large not what I expected.
The problem you see, is that Boston is such a college town. Despite it's hallowed place in American History, it's supposed rivalry with NYC and it's abundance of my peoples, Boston primarily serves as the location of Harvard, MIT, BU, Northeastern, and BC and as such, it's bars are designed to appeal to college kids. Cheap pitchers and beer pong tables are the order of the day, waitresses in jean skirts and frizzy hair are the norm. So, I went in expecting little Dublin, and instead was treated to a Northern version of Chapel Hill.
We pulled a waitress over in The Junction to help get the lay of the land, but then were stuck with her for the night as she thought I was hitting on her. So, we put down our beers and made our way to the next location, a bar with the rather tony name of "The Playwright" only to find it largely the same vibe. It was quickly apparent that we were going to be in for an evening of college style bars, and while slightly more adult, The Farragut House was only a slight improvement.
After that, we took a walk down by the water to work off some of the beer wait. The last stop on the list was a place called Murphy's Law, which I had been told was a must check out. We approached the bar at 10 minutes till 1 and heard the roar of a crowd. A trio of people, 2 women and a man walked a few yards behind us and had been behind us for several blocks. As we neared the door, the bouncer stuck his head out and told us the bar was closed...only to allow the 3 behind us right in. The Singhs were convinced this was racism, which might be true, but I was more on the side of it being about getting more women in. Either way, our night in Southie was done...with very little Irish culture absorbed and very little to write home about.
The Swords Project is currently a band called simply Swords. I heard their second album (First with that name) a few years back and had a brief infatuation with it, and decided to check out the first album. Much like their moniker, their songs used to be much longer (This one clocks in at over 10 minutes), and while I still enjoy the sounds they produce, I must say I drastically prefer the shorter more refined songs on the Swords album. Even with their whiny Indie-boy voice singer given a more prominent role, the shorter songs have a stronger since of melody and use the atmospherics to greater effect.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Auctioneer (Another Engine) - REM - Fables of the Reconstruction - 1985
The final bar we hit in Jamaica Plain was a place called Brendan Behan Pub, which turned out to be something of a gem...though not really what we were looking for at the moment. It was a smallish bar that was clearly a bit old. The wooden walls and benches were all a bit warped, giving the bar an odd angular look that us NYC-ers would refer to as "Character".
The crowd was mostly neighborhood types and most interestingly enough, dogs. Now, not dogs in an 80's slang, ugly chicks kinda way...I mean actual canines. There were easily 4-5 dogs in there with their owners, just randomly wandering the bar and socializing. As I am a dog person, this was a plus. I'm sure if I lived in JP, I'd find myself in this bar quite often. We were, however, looking for a bit more excitement than that and the pub was not providing it...so we were out after one drink.
We made a quick stop in the CVS, as I had forgotten a toothbrush and deodorant (Prompting Anand to snipe "you use those?") and then it was a cab to "Southie" for the remainder of the night.
Fables of the Reconstruction, the band's 3rd album, has always been my least favorite of the "Golden Age of R.E.M." albums. Sure, I'd listen to it 20 times in a row before I'd listen to Reveal or Around the Sun even one more time...but compared to the stunning debut album and the autumnal majesty of Reckoning, this album has always been a bit of a let down. Not quite sure whether to recapture the murky haze of the early work, or to head towards the arena rock they'd move towards on Life's Rich Pageant and perfect on Document...Fables seems stuck in two places at once, neither one thing nor the other.
Beyond this, it always seemed an odd decision for a band so steeped in Americana (Despite it's artier tendencies) to produce an album explicitly dedicated to a sort of modern American folk lore in London. The band wouldn't record out of The States again until the execrable Reveal. Stripped of all of their baggage, R.E.M. are, at the end of the day, an American rock band and they are at their best when they remember that fact.
The crowd was mostly neighborhood types and most interestingly enough, dogs. Now, not dogs in an 80's slang, ugly chicks kinda way...I mean actual canines. There were easily 4-5 dogs in there with their owners, just randomly wandering the bar and socializing. As I am a dog person, this was a plus. I'm sure if I lived in JP, I'd find myself in this bar quite often. We were, however, looking for a bit more excitement than that and the pub was not providing it...so we were out after one drink.
We made a quick stop in the CVS, as I had forgotten a toothbrush and deodorant (Prompting Anand to snipe "you use those?") and then it was a cab to "Southie" for the remainder of the night.
Fables of the Reconstruction, the band's 3rd album, has always been my least favorite of the "Golden Age of R.E.M." albums. Sure, I'd listen to it 20 times in a row before I'd listen to Reveal or Around the Sun even one more time...but compared to the stunning debut album and the autumnal majesty of Reckoning, this album has always been a bit of a let down. Not quite sure whether to recapture the murky haze of the early work, or to head towards the arena rock they'd move towards on Life's Rich Pageant and perfect on Document...Fables seems stuck in two places at once, neither one thing nor the other.
Beyond this, it always seemed an odd decision for a band so steeped in Americana (Despite it's artier tendencies) to produce an album explicitly dedicated to a sort of modern American folk lore in London. The band wouldn't record out of The States again until the execrable Reveal. Stripped of all of their baggage, R.E.M. are, at the end of the day, an American rock band and they are at their best when they remember that fact.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Auctioneer - REM - Live Rockplast Oct 2nd 1985 - 1985
As we stumbled East on South St., now fairly lubricated, we came across a bar that hadn't been on our list (Even on vacation, I project manage...I had put together a spreadsheet of 40 bars and restaurants, spread around different neighborhoods, for us to check out). The bar was called Alchemy and was a bit more of a lounge type place, complete with low lighting, a cocktail menu and a fair assortment of Boston skanks in nice-ish dresses.
It was approaching 7 o'clock and the fact that we hadn't eaten anything but a small order of chicken wings and 1 bagel (both split 2 ways) all day long was beginning to take it's toll on our drinking. Additionally, we were beginning to rethink our plan. Clearly JP was too residential to get much of a happy hour scene, and most of the bars we'd been in were drastically under populated. If there was a good time to be had in this city we hadn't found it yet. We debated pulling the plug on this hood and heading over to Southie (our night time plan), but as we only had one JP bar left on the list, Anand insisted (in the insistent way that he does when he is drunk) that we finish the job and visit the last bar.
This is R.E.M., back when they were still a rock band playing in Amsterdam in 1985, complete with some unfinished spoken word nonsense from Stipe to kick off the song. This has never particularly been my favorite song but it is impressive to hear the band kicking in their prime.
It was approaching 7 o'clock and the fact that we hadn't eaten anything but a small order of chicken wings and 1 bagel (both split 2 ways) all day long was beginning to take it's toll on our drinking. Additionally, we were beginning to rethink our plan. Clearly JP was too residential to get much of a happy hour scene, and most of the bars we'd been in were drastically under populated. If there was a good time to be had in this city we hadn't found it yet. We debated pulling the plug on this hood and heading over to Southie (our night time plan), but as we only had one JP bar left on the list, Anand insisted (in the insistent way that he does when he is drunk) that we finish the job and visit the last bar.
This is R.E.M., back when they were still a rock band playing in Amsterdam in 1985, complete with some unfinished spoken word nonsense from Stipe to kick off the song. This has never particularly been my favorite song but it is impressive to hear the band kicking in their prime.
Auctioneer - The Broken West - Now or Heaven - 2008
My friend Shani had hooked us up with a discount rate at the Marriot in Copley Square, which is located inside the Prudential building. Our spacious and accommodating room was on the 17th floor with a great view across the Charles. The building had a gym and pool facilities, 2 bars, and a very friendly concierge service. If nothing else, we couldn't really complain about the lodgings.
Once we were settled in and had had our pre-game cocktail, we hit the subway to go check out Jamaica Plain. I'd been to JP a few times to stay with a previous girlfriend's sister and her husband and found it a nice enough neighborhood. It's clearly Boston's best swing at having a Brooklyn style area, with neighborhood pubs, little cafe's and craft stores. It would do the trick on a sunny Friday afternoon.
After dealing with Boston's almost useless subway system, we got off and found our first bar with the Jeanie Johnston Pub, which was easily the least interesting bar we were in that night. We kicked off the festivities with a beer and a shot and some small talk, before heading out...so far we were unimpressed.
After that we hit James's Gate, a totally cool Irish Pub in the center of the hood. The problem with this place was that it's a winter bar. Old world style dark wood fixtures, steaming bowls of clam chowder, and thick pints of stout are all great on a chilly November night, but on a hot July day...we ended up in the back yard watching the girls walk down the sidewalk, downing a few pints and a some chicken wings. The younger Singh had a salad, for which we gave him no end of shit. Then we settled up and headed back to our explorations.
The Broken West does non-threatening power pop with a fair bit of melody. What it lacks in risk, it makes up for in sunny accessibility. They aren't going to change your life or anything, but this song is a fine example of the way that a simple sing-song melody can be stuck in your head for days.
Once we were settled in and had had our pre-game cocktail, we hit the subway to go check out Jamaica Plain. I'd been to JP a few times to stay with a previous girlfriend's sister and her husband and found it a nice enough neighborhood. It's clearly Boston's best swing at having a Brooklyn style area, with neighborhood pubs, little cafe's and craft stores. It would do the trick on a sunny Friday afternoon.
After dealing with Boston's almost useless subway system, we got off and found our first bar with the Jeanie Johnston Pub, which was easily the least interesting bar we were in that night. We kicked off the festivities with a beer and a shot and some small talk, before heading out...so far we were unimpressed.
After that we hit James's Gate, a totally cool Irish Pub in the center of the hood. The problem with this place was that it's a winter bar. Old world style dark wood fixtures, steaming bowls of clam chowder, and thick pints of stout are all great on a chilly November night, but on a hot July day...we ended up in the back yard watching the girls walk down the sidewalk, downing a few pints and a some chicken wings. The younger Singh had a salad, for which we gave him no end of shit. Then we settled up and headed back to our explorations.
The Broken West does non-threatening power pop with a fair bit of melody. What it lacks in risk, it makes up for in sunny accessibility. They aren't going to change your life or anything, but this song is a fine example of the way that a simple sing-song melody can be stuck in your head for days.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Auburn and Ivory - Beach House - Beach House - 2006
AC Milan and Inter Milan (2 of the best teams in Italian football, and as such, 2 of probably the 10 best teams in the world) were playing a "Friendly" pre-season exhibition match in Boston this weekend. As such, me and the Singh brothers decided to head out to Beantown for a long weekend and see what the city had in store for 3 strapping adventuresome men.
Friday morning, I took the PATH out to Hoboken. The car rental was cheaper to pick up in Jersey and there was no sense back tracking into Brooklyn if we didn't need to. The Singh's picked me up, and we were on the road before 11...a good start.
The ride up North was relatively cut and dry, we hit some traffic in some of the larger cities (Stamford, Bridgeport, New Haven, Hartford) but these were rarely more than 10 minute stops. We marvelled at how, despite it's image as the "Who's the Boss" wealthy suburb state, Connecticut is largely blue collar, grungy, and depressing. It does however possess beautifully landscaped rest areas.
We arrived in Boston a little before 4, and tried to find street parking, but this was considerably trickier than we thought. Parking in NYC, is rather famously, a bitch, but if you are willing to take the effort, you can usually find street parking after a few swings through some residential blocks. Boston has residential blocks, but all of these require resident passes to park. Eventually we gave up and just begrudgingly sucked up the $30 a day parking fees available at the local garages. This town was already showing it's downside.
It's a good day here for Beach House...their name is deceptive. Rather than the sunkissed Beach Boys record you might expect from such a band, they play the kind of music that you'd associate with being stuck in the rain all week on vacation. Sad, morose and lethargic. It's pouring rain here to the point that my coworkers just stated that it was a hurricane, and it feels like Beach House weather.
Friday morning, I took the PATH out to Hoboken. The car rental was cheaper to pick up in Jersey and there was no sense back tracking into Brooklyn if we didn't need to. The Singh's picked me up, and we were on the road before 11...a good start.
The ride up North was relatively cut and dry, we hit some traffic in some of the larger cities (Stamford, Bridgeport, New Haven, Hartford) but these were rarely more than 10 minute stops. We marvelled at how, despite it's image as the "Who's the Boss" wealthy suburb state, Connecticut is largely blue collar, grungy, and depressing. It does however possess beautifully landscaped rest areas.
We arrived in Boston a little before 4, and tried to find street parking, but this was considerably trickier than we thought. Parking in NYC, is rather famously, a bitch, but if you are willing to take the effort, you can usually find street parking after a few swings through some residential blocks. Boston has residential blocks, but all of these require resident passes to park. Eventually we gave up and just begrudgingly sucked up the $30 a day parking fees available at the local garages. This town was already showing it's downside.
It's a good day here for Beach House...their name is deceptive. Rather than the sunkissed Beach Boys record you might expect from such a band, they play the kind of music that you'd associate with being stuck in the rain all week on vacation. Sad, morose and lethargic. It's pouring rain here to the point that my coworkers just stated that it was a hurricane, and it feels like Beach House weather.
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