I suppose it is the fact that spring is really and truly here. Maybe it is the warmth, maybe it is the pollen,doing funny things to our psyches. Maybe itis the fact that this town is relatively crazy even on a "normal"day. Who knows, but I am having fun.

I was downtown at the Richard Shindell concert. The show was great. Richard is one of those singer/songwriters that is a real storyteller, and he has something amusing to tell between each song. Long ago he was a seminary student, before he realized that he was an atheist, and therefore probably shouldn't be a minister. Nevertheless, many of his songs have a religious theme or feel, and his ancedotes are punctuated by occasional heavenward glances, as if to check on a different audience. There were two encores.

Leaving the show, I wandered out onto Library Mall, which was filled with colored lights. The UW Glass Department's outdoor neon and light exhibition was going in full swing. Pieces ranged from the lame to the amazing. I was mesmerized by a box on a podium containing a few tubes of neon that slowly changed colors. The box had a plexiglass window in the front, and all the other internal walls were mirrors, so the neon appeared to go on for etenity. I was also amused by a guy with a boombox and a huge box of kitchen matches. He would start a song on the boombox (always stadium rock), light a match, and holding it in the air screaming, "Queen! Yeah!" About five seconds of the song would play, then he would cue up a new song, light a new match, and start again."Deep Purple! Yeah!" There was an enormous pile of matches at his feet. There are people of all ages punking out to Irish rock at the student uinon (where I am blogging this now) and all up and down State Street, people in various stages of intoxication are singing and dancing to the street musicians that can usually be found busking there. One man plays flute, another steel guitar. A rather old, almost homeless looking man plays guitar for songs like "Margaritaville" and "Brown Eyed Girl", with the lyrics written in magic marker on large, laminated cards for drunken, happy sorority girls to wail. This isn't a holiday, it is just the town.

Times like this I can see why I haven't moved on yet.