went down to make all sorts of swoony eye contact with jonathan richman at firehouse 13 in providence, RI on friday, with mr. ike and miss tintori (whose creaturecast on animal vag, and footage of deep sea critters, is worthy of your time). turns out JR is still as handsome as possible, and really into rust and love and breakfast and bricks and all glorious things of course.
mr. richman sort of saved me by reminding me he loved massachusetts oh so much when i was grumpy about it when i first moved here; since then, he's popped up in all sorts of places.
i've been swooning over this album cover since coming across it at an audio/record shop in watertown:
and i always feel like a weirdo conglomerate vermeer character (reading letters, surrounded by bawdy gents...)
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1 comment:
yessss to reading letters with men underfoot. and yesss to postcards of MA
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