I was never really gone

You'd think I'd have some sort of amazing story to share about how I've been trekking through the wilderness or was kidnapped or in an enchanted slumber or something. But no. Just not feeling very writerly. If it makes you feel any better, I always feel really lousy about myself when I write nothing for months (or years) on end. Actually, why would that make you feel better? You're not mean spirited.

But here we are on the brink of April and springtime and Easter. Rebirth galore. And I had a weekend full of great art:

1. ODC Dancing Downtown, which I think has now closed, but you can take a look at some video of my two favorite pieces "Grassland" and "Waving Not Drowning" here.

2. The Nice Guy Trio playing a fantastic concert of music by local composers (many of whom I know, which made me feel QUITE special, I don't mind telling you). You can see them playing a short set of their own music on this great podcast released every full moon. Tonight's the full moon and I don't know whether the new video is released werewolf-style once the moon is shining, or if it will be up sometime today.

3. Dan Hoyle's The Real Americans. I think Dan Hoyle might actually be magic. If not, I can't really account for how he inhabits so many other people onstage so entirely that you don't see him up there at all half the time. I don't really think it's because he puts on a different baseball cap. Lucky you, his show has been extended to May 30. If you want to see it, you should buy your tickets immediately, because part of his magic is that his shows sell out in the veritable blink of an eye.

If all those people can do all that beautiful work, I can probably update my blog. I can try. I mean, my friend Katy is committed to writing a new song every week for a year and that has got to be much, much harder than this, no?

So what have I been doing all this time? Well, lots of things, of course. But the short answer is: I moved and I met a fella.

I moved in January after thirteen years in one place. I only moved over the hill from one San Francisco neighborhood to another, but it still counts as a big deal. The new apartment is very lovely indeed and also very noisy. If you have an unusually loud vehicle of any kind--anything from skateboards or grocery carts full of bottles to semi trucks and Harleys--I invite you to join the endless parade outside my window. I wouldn't want you to miss out on the fun.

I think that all the noise may be to keep me from being insufferably smug, so enamored am I of the apartment itself. Is it possible that all my creative energy has gone into choosing furniture? I think it is.

As for the fella, I also spent quite a bit of energy (pointlessly, as it turns out) trying to win him over. He is determined not to be won, but, even still, it is refreshing to meet someone who awakens interest. I began to think such a thing was never to happen again.

At Saturday's concert, Nice Guy trumpeter Darren Johnston said at the end of a song, "I love those bittersweet songs. I do. 'Cause that's life. They're like 'Alleluia anyways.'"

And isn't that the glass-half-full view of "real life despite my best intentions?" Nothing really goes quite according to plan, but here I am in the middle of the messy celebration that is my life. Beautiful, noisy apartment. Delightful, standoffish man. I'll take it. Alleluia anyways.

Amen. Amen.