Amanda Palmer on nothing on New Year's.

i met him in cafe pamplona. he was reading a battered copy of heidegger. i had been ogling him for an hour, particularly obsessing about the holes in the bottoms of his leahter dress shoes. i finally just asked him - flat out - from my table a few feet away, if he was a tortured intellectual. he looked me straight in the eye and said “yes”.

and so it came to pass that me and mr. heidegger spent the night together one very cold and snowy new year’s eve in boston.

as it approached midnight, we were walking through harvard square, and climbed onto the beautiful little brick foot-bridge that spans a thin part of the charles river.

heidegger had already told me he thought that new year’s eve and the phenomenon of observing midnight as a special event was for philistines. i looked at my watch. it was twelve.

“happy new year, heidegger.”

he said nothing and didn’t even crack a smile.

good lord, i had such a terrible fucking crush on that guy.

I saw Palmer a few months ago. She's the most fun musician to come along in many a year.  ¶ 7:21 AM