Low. Indeed.

Kristin and I went to see Low tonight at Coolidge Corner. It was a beautiful musical eulogy. “There is nothing to say or do, but we’re doing this, so listen if you want,” they seemed to say. And listen we all did. You could have heard a pin drop. But you would have pretended it didn’t. Even if the pin fell straight down 200 stories into your eye.

And I was canned from a insert rate lower than first rate music rag. Oh, bitter irony. Heh.

To recap the weekend, I must agree with ’Ol Genghis (and I mean “Ol” in the most old-timey renaissance way possible and not in any way eluding to the fact that he turned twenty nine on Friday—go wish that loveable muh-fuh a happy birthday if you haven’t already, not that the popular beyotch needs it). Anyway, I must agree that hanging wit’ muh boo Kristin, Diaryland’s own Genghis-Jon, and Jon’s roommate John (we have so many Johns and Jons one might think us whores) was indeed the highlight of the weekend. Oh, and the industrial ear piercing I procured in New Haven and watching Kristin pace half naked between shots of the Two and a Half Hour Tattoo Gun That Wouldn’t Quit Coming Soon to Theatres Near YOU! Running around New Haven and looking at Yale’s vagina fountain and ominous heads in the architecture was a real treat. I was like, “We don’t got this old shit at Harvard, no sirreeeee, Bob.” And Bob said, “I’ll give you ominous head, Ruby.” I declined Bob’s silent invisible offer.

DJ G-Ziss and The Fresh Mother Mary, the way we’ve all recapped our weekend, you’d think we Diarylanders never have a Real Adventure!

Oh, I can’t stop listening to this Doug Martsch album it’s so finger-lickin’ good, y’all! I can’t believe I’m missing his show on Saturday. I may be getting a facial that day, but will get no good face with the man who, while self-proclaimed to be built to, never spills. Although I suppose he spills it, which may be what his band name proclaims to those less ignorant that me (I?). Hmm… he’s also playing in New York at the Bowery Ballroom on Sunday. Maybe I can drag my sister along? I am gracing her with my presence on Thursday at a Counting Crows concert… it’s the very least she can do, right?

Oh autumn, I could bite you and kill you, I love you so much. It is ineffable how much I would love to compare thee to a summer’s day.

Word of the Day for Wednesday October 9, 2002

ineffable \in-EF-uh-buhl\, adjective:

1. Incapable of being expressed in words; unspeakable; unutterable; indescribable.

2. Not to be uttered; taboo.

. . . the tension inherent in human language when it attempts to relate the ineffable, see the invisible, understand the incomprehensible. --Jeffrey Burton Russell, [1]A History of Heaven

Pope John Paul II notes that people are drawn to religion to answer the really big questions--for example, "What is the ultimate ineffable mystery which is the origin and destiny of our existence?" --William A. Sherden, [2]The Fortune Sellers

One cannot blame them very much; explaining the ineffableis difficult. --Edward O. Wilson, "The Biological Basis of Morality," [3]The Atlantic, April 1998

Ineffable is from Latin ineffabilis, from in-, "not" + effabilis, "utterable," from effari, "to utter," from ex-, "out" + fari, "to speak."