Tonight I'm going to New York for the first time in quite a while. I'm going to visit someone, but it's always visiting the city itself even if you don't do anything indigenous to the place. New York does that in a way few cities can. It's why I both love and hate it.

Before I leave I have to swing by the dermatologist and have the stitches removed from my little finger. Last night I spilled a glass of water on myself and managed to get my bandage completely soaked, so I had to take it off. Hopefully the nurse will not be upset with my replacement even though it is just a Band-Aid.

I'm looking forward to being able to bend my finger again in a way that lets me play sixth-root barre chords that aren't sevenths. Sometimes it's nice and empowering just to play something as simple as a six-stringed major chord voiced in the standard way.

There are very few new things to be said. In fact I think there are none. So why keep writing? I don't know. I find it unoriginal to say that I don't have a choice. Perhaps I need to be proven wrong on all counts.

what's on:
"Angels Hang Their Socks on the Moon" (Tobin Sprout - Moonflower Plastic (Welcome to My Wigwam))