I will say this much: Coming home from tour, from unstructurable days within the Econoline womb, from the constant company of the same half dozen folks, from the band business chatter and life stories, the 85 mph drift through the great plains, from the unflattering lights and putrid smells of gas station bathrooms, from sleeping bag bedrooming... it is strange and anxiety inducing. I now know why people spend months and years never settling home. It's like being drop shipped into another vortex of life, even though this one I have -- all post office visits, real bed sleep, house key deployment, ringing phones and easy email access and familiar faces -- is so sweet and well worn, it is fucking strange. I keep checking my pockets because I feel like something is missing or not right.
Also in other news, neither myself nor Julianne got into Columbia for the fall. No school this time for us. We are taking it as a sign that we should be seeking joint editorship at Honey Magazine or the like. Book deal proposals are also welcome. We got ideas to split brain pans like ripe melons. If you are reading this, and are in charge of a substantial arts endowment fund, Hit it or Quit it is soliciting deep pocketed infusion in order to become the dominating force in music journalism and fulfill it's fanzine-destiny as the missing link 'tween Ego Trip and Bikini Kill #2. Walking through a barnes and Noble last week and seeing that the Women's Interest section is nothing but guides deep-tanned anorexia, hot handbags for summer, 47 hot new decorating ideas and perfect white weddings has again refocused my vision. WOMENS INTEREST? Fuck that with 50 feet of garden hose, dog.
Hit it or Quit it #18 is on the rise, young and restless.Posted by Jessica at May 19, 2004 02:58 PM | TrackBack