the town that irony forgot

[jfb]

In town to see Gillian Welch, who writes old-time bluegrass songs without putting them in quotation marks, I ate at Falafel of Santa Cruz. "Where can I find some napkins," I asked after a few seconds of searching around. "Oh yeah," said the college student behind the counter, "they're right here where nobody can find them," in the napkin dispenser at eye level four inches from my face. Not sarcastic, not implying that they should be easy to find, just noting an observed anomaly of optics: The napkins, there, are invisible to humans. "We got to let the music play," sang the radio. Someone in a paisley skirt opened the door.

Comments

[bushmiller.livejournal.com]

this is perhaps the best single blog post i've read in a while. seriously.

--sean

[jfb.livejournal.com]

Thanks. I keep meaning to write more blog entries that are actually blog entries, but I don't seem to get to most of them.

[emmacrew.livejournal.com]

Every once in a while I wish I lived in Santa Cruz. Now I'm doing it again.

[jfb.livejournal.com]

Yes, I call those moments "waking hours".