Past Perfect Senses

[or, Stuff for the Overanalytical, the Heart-Crushed, and the Girls with Their Peace in Someone Else's Hands]



If Lucky Soul writes stuff that take me back, Aimee writes songs that bring me to places like Wonka's Chocolate Factory (sans scary Oompa-Loompas) --- I've never been there, it's all new, but I feel right at home with all of its different variations of ear candy (and more).

@#%&*! Smilers (2008 SuperEgo) is like a chewing gum meal (complete with tomato soup, roast beef, potatoes and blueberry pie) --- with its big helpings of pianos and keyboards and horns and strings. It's like a fizzy lifting drink with its bits that swell, and an Everlasting Gobstopper with its choruses that repeat for as long as you want them to. It is also pitilessly melodious like wriggle sweets that wriggle delightfully in your tummy after swallowing, except that this time the wriggling happens in your head.

And so. On 31 July, only 29 days before Aimee's show at the Esplanade, it took me no time flat from reading the announcement to deciding that I would go see it. Sure, 29 days mightn't be all that impulsive or madcap or whimsical... hey --- do burst my bubble, why don't you? I've been waiting 14 years. Or whatever. You're not the one in this picture:

Will I ever be unhappy again.

In the face of unconscionable indecisiveness of TD&Hs?

Let me first count five hundred by fives, slowly and fairly: five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, thirty, thirty-five, forty, forty-five, fifty...

Okay. I too may not quite have the patience for that.

Maybe a word from the wise?

Well. I think. We are all allowed. A little bit of drama. For as long as. In the end. We realize. It's really the little things. That matter. Like being able to pack your bags. To see a good show.

Thank you, everyone who helped make it happen.