Resurrecting the ramblefest

It took a while, but she's back. After an especially intense bout of self-diagnosed seasonal affective disorder this winter during which I spent an inordinate amount of time slumbering 'neath the duvet covers, I have decided that it's high time to spew more of my senseless prattle into the netosphere. The real inspiration for the comeback is that I wanted to ooze multitudes of love and affection for Ben Gibbard and his stellar solo act that I caught last night at the TLA. Ben is the dreamy lead singer of "Death Cab for Cutie" and the (thus far) one-time ensemble "Postal Service." I do believe I love the man. (Yes, there are one or two of us 30-somethings that are still prone to schoolgirl crushes.) He's grounded, funny, and has voice clearer than a bottle of Evian. I loved the quirky way he constantly adjusted his glasses while playing the piano for "Soul Meets Body," and how he wrote a cheat sheet of lyrics for his acoustic version of Michael Jackson's "Thriller."

I was fated to experience Ben's musical genius last night. I have known about the concert for a couple months, but as usual, didn't think to get tickets until they were sold out. Even though I was tired as hell, I decided that I would just head over and hope someone was getting rid of their tickets because they couldn't go. So there's little old me standing in a crowd of mostly college age hippy type kids looking for someone with tickets. I stand in line, ticketless, pondering just how the hell I'm going to get in when a guy asks me if I need one. I nod yes and was about to ask how much when he tells me, "It's free." Fate, I tell you.

Well, hopefully I'll have more gushing about cute singers, belly-button gazing, and wtf? moments to post into the ether as we move through spring into summer. Ta ta!