Details of the Jackopierce concert will arrive soon, after sleep, the ingestion of sustenance, and stoppage of this strange bouncing that I've been doing for the last few hours. Your normal, reserved, albeit slightly goofy domesticat will return sometime on Monday. For now, the demented impostor that has taken over her body feels the need to go into the living room and squeal for a little while.

I gave up on the Dallas concert for financial reasons. I regretted the decision from the moment I made it, even though I knew that I'd made the right fiscal choice.

From the first time I read the show announcement, I was just flabbergasted with shock—Jackopierce actually playing together again?—wasn't I there for one of the concerts on the farewell tour five years ago?

I had been introduced to Jackopierce my freshman year of college, but never got to see them perform in Juanita's, their customary Little Rock venue, because the concerts were for ages 21 and up.

In the time when man reckoned his life by season and snow, it was called the hunter's moon. The hunter's moon meant many things, sinking low in the sky, gravid with the promise of winter; the time to procure the beast and fowl that, preserved, would be the mainstay of winter.

In the time of rapidly shifting electrons, it is nothing more than an impediment to the Leonids.

By most people's standards, I don't think you'd call today a day of rest. There's nothing quite like realizing for the seven-millionth time that making dinner for fewer than eight people really isn't that big of a deal, but, really, it isn't. Dinner for five (like tonight) - a cakewalk. I could practically do it in my sleep at this point.

Saturday night, ten-thirty. I hide my nails from view, not from shame or modesty, but to keep light and careful fingers on my wallet and cell phone. We are standing less than a block north of the county library, at the 'hard rock' stage of Big Spring Jam—which, notably, is not held in the spring.

(It took me a year to find out that the park in downtown is named Big Spring Park. Thus, the festival is named after the park it is held in, and does not—as I originally assumed—point to the inability of local officials to distinguish spring from autumn.)We are playing at sanity tonight, Danielle, Jeremy, and I; we are avoiding the testosterone insanity of the mosh pit for a cushier, less-cramped view a few hundred feet back. Instead of jostling for room and oxygen up front, we are standing on the tiny strip of grass that separates the parking lot from the street.