Those with wanderlust have a tendency to want to chase some comet until it’s spent. It doesn’t have to be a place. It could be anything.
The norm in this country is still for doctors to be brusque and overly technical, and for probiotics and other dietary wisdom to be touted only in ways that can be fit into the space of a 20-second television advertisement.
A woman named Karen swept in and onto the low carpeted stage in front of us. Immediately I liked Karen. I loved Karen. I was going to do everything Karen told me to do.
A dose of folk, pop, and electronic music from bands and solo artists including Roo Panes, Postiljonen and Summer Heart.
Matsson’s style of playing, like Dylan’s in the beginning, is loose and mostly finger-picked. His guitar, usually an acoustic, often sounds as if the strings are about to fall off.
Life is mostly filled with a struggle with the self: self-loathing, self-involvement, self-discovery. Skins gives credence to this. It sees life as it is.
It’s hard for me to believe that in another era, people might have read books to relax. Now, to relax, I need — or at least I tell myself I need — to watch the least mentally challenging, least difficult, least gritty, least substantive television program available.
A blue LED flashlight resembling a glowstick floated by us on the path. It was attached, we realized after tilting our headlamp-clad heads upward, to a woman. She announced herself with a cheerful “Hi!” and walked over to us.
I am, dare I say it, impressed by the cast of The Real World: Portland. And I kind of love them.
Maybe we irritating critics will call this Marling’s “transitional album,” but that’s not a criticism. She’s just dipping her feet into the vast sea of musical ideas that her talent can tackle.