Ah, fall in New England. This past weekend was the first one where the nip in the air could really be felt, and I swooned as I chose a sweater before leaving the house. Not that we went leaf peeping or pumpkin picking or cider tasting or anything, we didn't even check out the regatta on the Charles, but we did get outside a lot, to the park and such. Mike roasted a chicken (such a lovely thing in chilly weather) and we went to swimming lessons and had an out-of-town visitor and now suddenly it's Monday, as that tends to happen. I'm anticipating a chill but productive week. We'll see it that comes true in any way.
In my mind there's a category of music that I call "impressive vocal performances." They're just that: some kind of vocal that impresses me in a particular way. This one I like so much because, though I know Boz Skaggs wrote the song, I grew up with the still nice but unremarkable-to-me Rita Coolidge version. It takes on a whole new interesting life, to me, with the male vocal.
What? I'm old. I totally embrace it. So much so that it doesn't bother me AT ALL that someone Mike knows told him that The Velvet Goldmine was her favorite movie when she was, "like, 12." AT ALL.
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