"In the desert, you can remember your name..."

My brother, the rock star, has left the desert. He flew out of Palm Springs this evening and should be landing in Seattle shortly. He is playing a solo gig at a Tacoma club called Hell's Kitchen on Thursday the 12th. Doors open at 5:20 and the show starts at 5:30; if you enjoy pure musical and lyrical genius, you really can't afford not to contact him for $7 tickets.

I, sadly, will be missing the show, as I will be on the road somewhere between UC San Diego and the University of Arizona. Depending partially upon how either visit goes, however, this small investment could enable me to spend quite a bit more time in this part of the country. Bryant is still holding out for Minneapolis, but I am terribly fond of the desert sunshine.

We've been having 80 degree days here, and it's seriously like a drug. I stand outside and tingle and giggle. I realize that it'll be about 40 degrees warmer in four or five months, which would be far less euphoria- inducing, but for now I feel as though I've been transported through some delicious time warp into a parallel universe--one with scented air, electric vegetation, and the mountains I caught myself mentally labeling "tall ground" when I first flew here from the midwest last year.

I still think that deciding to stay and teach in Ohio was the right decision, but I feel very fortunate for this opportunity to soak up some California sunshine before I have to return to the cold northern lands.