And so it goes. Seeing those videos of Samantha really kicked me in the gut, and I still haven't recovered from the assault. One of the tracks for the final Impetus CD is called November Kiss, and every time I listen to it, I'm taken back to that night in 1984, the two of us alone on the sidewalk in front of my house. Our platonic hugs became awkward teenage kisses, and she looked dreamily up at me and said, "I think I'm falling in love with you." That was over 20 years, two children, an interstate move, a whole world ago. And I can still remember what her hair smelled like, and what her lips felt like. That's the craving right there.
I guess it's good that the music is so powerful. I've had friends listen to it and cry because they know the story behind it.
I hate having to grow out my full beard for the show. Somewhat because it's never exactly been "full", but mostly because it's currently at the "itchy sandpaper" stage, and my moustache is getting in my mouth. Bleh. Gimme a neatly-trimmed Van Dyke any day. But then I guess turn-of-the-century Russian Jews didn't often wear neatly-trimmed Van Dykes. Oh well, it's only for a couple more weeks, then I can go back to my Sir Francis Drake.
Which reminds me - this is my favorite bit from Trainspotting:
TOMMY: Doesn't it make you proud to be Scottish?
RENTON: I hate being Scottish. We're the lowest of the fucking low, the scum of the earth, the most wretched, servile, miserable, pathetic trash that was ever shat into civilization. Some people hate the English, but I don't. They're just wankers. We, on the other hand, are colonized by wankers. We can't even pick a decent culture to be colonized by. We are ruled by effete arseholes. It's a shite state of affairs and all the fresh air in the world will not make any fucking difference.