Is You Is, Or Is You Ain't, My Baby?

When we were kids and Kevin was still pretty young, like 4 or 5, he would get a Tom & Jerry tape to watch every time he had his tri-weekly IV. As a result, I'm very familiar with a whole range of Tom & Jerry cartoons through time.

Tonight at the Abbey, the band played "Is You Is, or Is You Ain't, My Baby?" They introduced it as being a song first learned from Tom & Jerry cartoons as a kid. I appreciated it.

I went to the Abbey primarily to pick up tix for next week's English Beat show and the Slackers show next month, then sat for some shepherd's pie and a pint of Guinness. Right as I got there, Kate called, and when I took my earphone out the earpiece stayed in.

After about ten minutes of digging in my ear with my finger to no avail, I resigned myself to deal with it until I got home and tugged it out with tweezers.

Which I did, promptly, after a frantic search of my medicine cabinet for the damn thing.

For some reason my hands were fucking freezing by the time I got to the Abbey from the Music Box. Well, my right thumb anyway, since the gloves are pretty much peeled to the knuckle on that one. But the ride up to the Music Box and the ride home from the Abbey were fine. Hmmm.

Trish and I tried to meet up for Death of a President at the Music Box, but I went in first since she was stuck in traffic, and then she couldn't find me until the end of the movie. Anyway, we were able to talk a bit, which was good, and it's always good to get hugs. She said her friend Amy wanted to be new friends with me, which is cool.

The movie was excellent. Haunting. Not overtly political either, which is good, as it made its case through example, and the subject matter was pretty attention-grabbing as well.

I got home all sweaty, dripping, shirt wet. Now I'm chilly and must shower before bed.

Soon. Sleep soon.

The Young's is about gone, and the Lucero is petering out.

One last passage (I hope) from Fallen Dragon:

Worst of all, for Lawrence, was the rust. He'd never realized there was so much metal involved with the city's construction, blithely assuming its component parts were all sophisticated modern composite, held together with intricate molecular bonds. But they weren't: metal remained the cheapest and easiest method of fabrication. Templeton had been screwed, riveted, nailed, reinforced and bolted into a cohesive whole like every other human conurbation since the Iron Age. And now it was paying the price of that cheapness in Amethi's Wakening climate. Rust oozed from every structure. It was the city's sweat, exuded from a million filthy pores. Grubby red-brown stains dribbled and wept along each surface, sapping its strength in an eternal drip of oxidation.

Oh, wow.

This is the third time I'm reading this book, but it's just so wonderful right now, I feel like I could cry from joy. Hope can be renewed by art, it's true.

More from Fallen Dragon:

She rested her elbow on the bar and put her chin in her palm to give him a quizzical look. "You're funny, Lawrence. I've never met a boy like you before."

"What do you mean?"

"Half the time you act like you're terrified of me."

"I'm not!" he protested indignantly.

"Good to know. You've got lovely eyes, halfway between gray and green."

"Oh. Um, thanks."

She broke off a corner of toast and popped in her mouth. "Which is your cue to give me a compliment. Any part of me you like?"

A strength of will the he never knew he had stopped him from looking directly at her chest. Instead he gazed right back into her shining gray eyes. "I wouldn't know where to begin," he said softly, and blushed.

For a moment she held still; then a wide smile spread across her lips. "That sounded like a pretty good beginning to me. For someone who comes over all reticent, you've got the moves, Lawrence."

"That wasn't a move. That's what I really think."