Snowed In

Quite literally. A supposed 16 inches descended upon The District this weekend, quickly taking the city by storm and pushing nearly everything to a grinding halt. Buses fish-tailed, a snow ball fight ensued that resulted in cops with guns arriving to break it up (also calling it a "protest"), and the Federal Government has cancelled work tomorrow. (I sadly, am not on that list of exclusions).

Still, it's the most snow I've seen since I was a little girl. Though then, this kind of snowfall amounted to snowman construction and hours of endless sledding. One year the neighborhood kids and I all piled into a little backyard pool and rode up and down the hill of Sharon Circle over and over and over again, much to our fathers' exhaustion (and irritation?). God it was fun.

Not sure what happened to those days. Instead of seeking cheap thrills at the hands of our cumulative ideas, we now trek across the cityscape to find solace in an open bar. No longer satisfied with hot chocolate by the fire but rather bourbon by the bar. Is adulthood going to continue to take away these simple, lovely joys? I sure hope not.

I say this as if I did not enjoy the snow. A smile creeps across my face as I admit, we had our own snow ball fight and watched giddy neighbors and their equally giddy dogs enjoy all that a winter wonderland can bring. Truth is, spending a blizzard traipsing around the empty streets of Washington was equally as entertaining as sledding down a road in Chattanooga that I've ridden my bicycle up and down too many times to recall accurately. The only difference? It hurts a lot more to fall on your ass at 28 then it does at 12.

Poetree

Like a slice of spoon through a piece of pound cake,

Or a sliver of moon on a wicked night-scape,

You come as a swinger of birches

To the side of a widow to willows.

Let me not go to the weeping,

Let me not drag the dirt,

For somewhere in my shelter

Be there beauty, be there mirth.

Because Mutiny on the Bounty is What We're all About!

Much like my love affair with the Archers of Loaf, The Beastie Boys took root some time ago. It's funny how things just get under your skin and stay, like someone stitched them into your flesh and once and awhile pulls the string.

Pleasure is pain, baby.

Speaking of pain... well, really speaking of phlegm... I saw another lover last night... the Pixies. Back in action on a Doolittle Tour, the fab four thankfully brought out more energy than I could muster. I won't complain too much... I still went to the freakin' show you know... but I was definitely ill. Hopped up on painkillers, cold meds and just enough bingers not to rot my already crusty lungs, I descended upon the Pixies wearing a Dead Weather t-shirt. What a fucking dork.

My hazed head followed through Doolittle, song by song, and energetically opened up to the several encores that included hits from Come On Pilgrim and Surfer Rosa (my fav). Kim Deal, though surrounded by fat, bald men, can still bring me to my knees (or was that the near-lethal combination of the cures what ails ya?). Whatever it maybe, she is still so rad. Closed the show with "Gigantic". Oh yeah.

The Pixies are not the only band to kick back to their roots and play an old, multi-platinum album for adoring fans. Liz Phair did it with Exile in Guyville last year, and it was awesome. But what is it that is simultaniously alluring and appalling about these oldies but goodies rehashing their hits? Are they out of fresh air? Should I be worried that all we have to look forward to in the next decade is remakes and re-releases? Hell, what am I talking about... if the Archers want to get back together and do a Icky Meddle tour, I'm totally there.