Some might use the old elephant clich� to describe my memory. Aside from the fact that I�ll forget your name immediately upon introduction, I don�t often forget things that mean something. (Not that I�m saying your name doesn�t mean something�give it to me a second time, and I�ve got it forever. Calm down.) I might forget to pay a phone bill now and then, but on the anniversary of the day your dog died when you were twelve, I�ll take you out to dinner. Sometimes I feel like I have no filter, like all details come at me at once, and I can�t simply concentrate on the conversation, when the light is hitting that wall on the right with such a pleasing warm glow and the woman walking past outside is wearing a scarf of a sort of blue/gray/green that leaves me speechless.

So walking into the Abbey last night was just hard. Even before the show, as we drove past the White Castle on Addison, I was reminded of the last time I�d been to a show at the Abbey (and to the WC afterward), which had been a horrible and illuminating night, similarly cold and nasty outdoors. I was overwhelmed, my stomach churned, and I couldn�t tear my eyes from the entrance to the room. But he didn�t ever show up.

Then Rhett came out on stage. Well, I take it back. When he came out to sing a song with the opening band, the Damnwells, he reminded me of a nerdy junior high boy, one in the midst of an awkward growth spurt, one unaccustomed to his growing limbs, one self-conscious in his awkwardness. It was startling and not at all what I remembered. When he appeared onstage for his set, it was as if he was a different man.

I now understand why Elvis, with his sexy gyrations, was so controversial. Reb and I immediately reversed our stance on the Who Would You Rather game option of Rhett vs. Murry.

I also understand why Rhett is such a tiny little guy. Oh, how hard he works, even when he�s alone on stage, singing with the acoustic guitar. We were grateful for the unobstructed view from our crow�s nest vantage point, even though we were itching to be right in front, dancing away. It was far too crowded for that.

I preferred �Terrible Vision� without the weird female backup bits. And I adore Rhett for championing the much-maligned DeLillo novel, Underworld. In short, now that I�ve seen him do the solo disk songs live, I�m happier with it.

In the end, both bands worked the crowd well, the crowd sang along to all of Rhett�s songs, and we knew the 2 � hour drive home at 12:30 pm was well worth the joy of having been there.

Maybe now I could go back and be okay.

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I have a new haircut with a few bangs. I hate the word �bangs.�

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That brown glass bottle on my desk isn�t actually beer. Is it?

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I think I�m going to turn down invites and lay low this weekend. I�ll work in the woodshop, do some cooking and baking and finish a painting. Maybe go see Frida this weekend with Tams.

(Drinks tonight after work, of course. Sigh.)