Here’s to you, Here’s to me

You know, when you spend too much time (not that one can REALLY spend too much time in discussion with such a delightful dilettante) talking to one certain Helena Hann-Basquiat, you begin to seriously stifle the urge to address people as “Darling.” And, as that is her “thing” and not meant for the “unwashed masses” like me, I need to come up with my own greeting. But, that’s neither here nor there. 

It’d drizzly, dreary, and dark in Boston today and I’m not sure whether it’s the cold and the dark, the lingering cold, or the lack of sleep, but I’m feeling about as creative as a Q-Tip lately. Perhaps it’s because my current work in progress is more ambitious than novels I’ve attempted in the past–mainly because it’s set in a real place, in real time, and there are no giant flying plot devices…er…eagles…to rescue the protagonist, one distressing damsel. Perhaps it’s because I’m realizing that the 30 degree weather and accompanying drizzle are just the harbinger of what’s to come–although, I admit to walking through the streets in the rain even though I had an umbrella in my bag, just to feel the mist on my face. Perhaps it’s a subtle melding of all of the above compounded by the fact that I’m facing eight hours of boredom with no access to Gmail. 

So here’s the soundtrack to this Friday, because it’s beautiful and a bit maudlin, and because Caleb Followhill and the rest of the Kings recorded it while completely knackered and only the first verse was written beforehand. You read that right–the rest was improvised by Followhill and it’s been said that he cried the first time he heard it played back. Wrap your scarf a little tighter, because this one will give you the chills.