Ironing and The xx
Last night I stayed up past midnight, ironing dress shirts, both mine and his. It feels productive, useful and has a beginning and an end.
This morning I listened to this live version of a The xx’s song three or four times in a row (the first one). I may have posted it last year when it came out. I want to take a bath in the trembling desire it contains.
(from NPR’s Tiny Desk Concerts)
Wish I had a third point to make. (Pardon the non sequitur nature of this.) This will have to suffice: I’ve entertained the idea of road-tripping it up to Madrona in Tacoma this weekend. Probably won’t, but it’s might have been a kooky adventure.
