I can die a happy woman

Well, friends, I am happy -- no, ecstatic -- no, euphoric -- to share with you what I did over the holiday weekend.

I saw The Police in concert.

That was the ice cream sundae. This is the cherry on top: It was the first show -- the first show! -- of the Police's first world tour in 23 years.

My friend Rachel and I traveled up to Vancouver to catch the kick-off show, and oh, was it worth the trip. I was nearly weeping like a schoolgirl when they took the stage. Sigh...

Need I say that The Police are still one of the greatest bands in history? And need I say that their music sounds incredible and amazing live? And need I say -- really, need I say? -- that Sting is still capable of setting every girl's heart aflutter? For crying out loud, does the man even age?

I will not bore you by waxing poetic about the show; I will only make these few observations:
1. The trio did not start the show with "Roxanne." Thank you, thank you, thank you for that.
2. Stewart Copeland stole the show in a subtle, understated kind of way. He has not lost his edge in the slightest.
3. I am a complete idiot for following the rules and not bringing my camera to the show. Wah, no pictures for me.

Go here if you want to get a taste of what the show was like.

A running trainwreck

A few months ago, I started something new.

About once or twice a week, I run during my lunch hour. The Chehalis-Western is a great bike trail a half mile or so from work, so I can hop on, get in a few miles, then run back. The trail is home to evergreen trees, ponds, horses, even surprisingly pretty black and green snakes. And occasionally, a young person or two toking it up behind the forsythia. Oh, and sometimes, scary unleashed dogs tearing after me.

Today's was a halcyon run, with the sun shining and the air cool. Birds were singing. Passersby were friendly. It was good.

The only thing -- and this is kind of a disgusting thing -- is that there is no shower at work. So, I have to come back, wash my face, brush my hair, and hope that I don't look like a trainwreck.

That's pretty optimistic, I know, especially because these days I typically look like a trainwreck when I leave the house in the morning.

I'm thinking that the PNW has made me less vain. Either that, or it has made me a total rube.

Wow...

...That was a long case of writer's block.

Good thing Kevin paid us a visit and threw a bit of his creative force our way. A few good conversations with Kevin, a few visits to his blog, and I suddenly feel inspired to break this six-month hiatus. Thanks, Kevin.

So, bear with me. I'm shaking out the blogger's cobwebs. The good thing, I guess, is that everybody has probably given up on my blog by now, so I am free to write really crappily without being self-conscious.

Why start the blog again? Here's the scene: I've been finding post-it notes I have written to myself all over the place. All over the place. On my dashboard. On my ipod. On my "free gift" Clinique makeup bag.

What is written on the post-its? Some book titles, some grocery lists, some time splits. But mostly, I don't know what's on the post-its. All I know is my thoughts seemed really important at the time (on one of them, I can decipher the words "terribly important"), but now these scribbled thoughts are meaningless, relegated to a corner of my desk at work. I can't read them, either because I can't make out my own handwriting or because the pencil has all but faded. But I can't throw them away (what if what I wrote was my one and only stroke of genius?). The solution: Lose the post-its, go back to the blog.

So, after about an hour and a half of trying to remember my blogspot username and password, it's back to the blog I go.