[Subject line from Vienna Teng's "Augustine." Her concert at the Belcourt last week was outstanding, as was its opening act, Ben Sollee (a Lexington (KY) cellist whom all you Bluegrass Staters should make a point of seeing next time he plays at home. His political lyrics don't quite click for me, but the man's got great hands and a fine voice, and it's sweet to hear him sing the blues).]

The street outside the hotel is finally quieting down -- the bass from someone's stereo is still thumping ferociously, but it's far more tolerable than the guy earlier tonight drunkenly ranting about jealousy, which grew tiresome enough for me to get up and shut the window.

The day's been a mix of work, walking around, research, fuming, and vegging. There's a new entry at Vary the Line, and a haiku newly featured at Seven by Twenty.

(Spoke too soon about the street sliding into sleep - it was merely taking a break, and it's now revved back up into a clutter of half-shrieked conversations and the dull roar of traffic (punctuated with vrooms and slams) and there were at least two couples engaged in passionate embracing when I peeked out a few minutes ago. Plus a movie just let out. Nevertheless, it is time for me to call it a night.)