My cynicism reigns, but I am watching some of the Live8 coverage today, mostly on Canadian tv (and not MTV/VH1), between spates of painting the bathroom a pale blue. And I did add my name to the list, just in case a few million people are listened to by the 8 men who rule the world, after all.
I remember watching LiveAid on a stifling hot Saturday in a small blue-walled living room, in front of a fan, in Riverside. I thought Sir Bob was a hero. Now I'm not sure if he has a clue about politics and money at all. But I pray some change comes from this, even if I'm too jaded to envision it from this couch today, where I type with blue paint spots on my knees & on my inside-out Hampshire College sweatshirt.
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Nice break earlier, rather more dressed up, taking dog to play at Days Park and to hang out on the Nietzsche's patio with some pals and a glass. Trefoyle and the Celtic Session went on as I felt guilty for missing the Inner Harbor Music Festival down on Ohio Street. I really wanted to make it there.
Mariah preferred the more intimate scene.
