the sound of

Where does the time go? I've been neck-deep in work (and play) and the days have screamed past. A few notes on the past week.

M. Ward. Last Thursday I went downtown with the Nikman to catch the free outdoor concert given by this guy. Fascinating act. He didn't have much in the way of stage presence, but his sound was haunting and melodic, sort of a Tom Waits meets Paul Simon. I want the new album.

Kathleen Turner. Saturday night the BF and I caught Serial Mom herself in "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" Astounding performance, as expected. She's definitely showing her age, but the weight and swagger go with the character of Martha like gin goes with tonic. The supporting cast was also awesome, though I hated Bill Irwin.

Harry Potter. So I finished the new book in two or three big gulps of reading. Definitely an improvement over the last entry — Harry's thankfully lost the bratty edge. It's almost as if J.K. Rowling had a new editor, one who said, "Seriously, we don't need a play-by-play of every Quidditch match of the season." Amen.

Missy Higgins. The rest of the weekend was spent working on my review of "The Sound of White," which should be running in Southern Voice this week. If you need some angsty white chicks in your life, Missy is your gal. I love the album, even with its flaws. Definitely going on my top ten list of the year's best.

Julia Cameron. Six months later, I got to the last page of "The Sound of Paper." (It sounds nothing like White, by the way.) Not a bad little book, and one that reignited some creative fires for me.

Montreal. I depart today for the city's (somewhat different take on) Pride. The BF joins me Friday. We have no idea what to expect. Winn says no one speaks English, and my French is awfully rusty. Thankfully, I do speak Gay, which is a universal language.