Ronckytonk

Welcome to the jungle country

2012-01-31T00:58:00.000-05:00

When I took a job with a country artist, I knew nothing about country music besides the odd tracks on my iPod by Lucinda Williams and Johnny Cash. The band I'm tour managing would talk about musicians and I'd smile blandly. The few times I tried to comment on songs, I got confused. Are we talking about Dirt Road Anthem or Dirt Road Prayer or Red Dirt Girl or Car Wheels on a Gravel Road? All the dirt and the roads, they got me turned around. At a gas station on the drive from California to Ohio, I bought a People Magazine, Country Edition and read it cover to cover, often out loud. Matthew looked at me sideways and I said, "It's RESEARCH."

At the American Country Awards in Vegas in December, I sat in the green room and watched the monitor of what was happening on stage, the badonkadonk jokes and the Red Solo Cup singalong. Some of the only people I recognized were the cast of Pawn Stars and the comedian Bill Engvall, who I've seen on Comedy Central. I lot of the women looked familiar but I couldn't name them. I saw my former boss from Idol and he said, "I remember when I started and I didn't know who anyone was." "When you were me, you mean?"

When I found out that we were going on tour as an opener for Jason Aldean, I thought, "Great, who's that?" Now that we've finished the first leg of the tour and am preparing for the next, I fully respect where we are. We play the first set of the night, to thousands of country fans in arenas who came to the My Kinda Party tour. Our schedule is close to what I did when I first toured on a crew: wake up on the bus every morning, stumble to the front lounge to make coffee, ask our driver where we are if we're still moving, go inside the loading dock to find the towels for a shower in a locker room if we've already arrived. Stay busy all day until I crawl into my bunk at night. I'm not making most of the rules, I'm asking other people what they are, I'm learning new things.

Now that I'm on the country circuit, I also get to vote in the awards shows. I get daily email updates from several country news outlets and when it's awards show time, labels send me CDs and promo materials to sway my vote. Hilarious! And informative. And just a lot of stuff. Many, many people have told me that Nashville and the country music world is small and that everyone knows everyone. So many that it started to feel vaguely like a warning more than a friendly reminder and maybe it was but I can attest to the fact that after six weeks of paying attention, the pieces of the country puzzle are starting to come together.

Last week I was talking to a producer who said he'd love us to a play a festival he's doing later this year. I asked him who else is on the bill and he rattled off a string of names. "Wow," I said without a trace of irony or bullshit, "That's a great lineup."

Laughing quietly to myself

2012-01-24T11:23:00.000-05:00

About how I got on the bus this morning to find a bag from Cracker Barrel full of $80 worth of baby moccasins. Most incongruous thing ever found on a tour bus.

Phew

2012-01-22T12:17:00.000-05:00

Yeah, I love this. Thanks, Leah

Lionel Richie morning

2012-01-15T20:06:00.000-05:00

I knew it was going to be a good day when I pulled up to the hotel and Lionel Richie was smiling at me through the windshield. I BEAMED right back.

Things strangers said to me in the last 24 hours

2012-01-15T01:56:00.001-05:00

"I bought an Acura on Craigslist today."

"Don't stand out here too long, people will think you're selling drugs."

"You should try West Nashville, a lot of rich white people live there. Excuse my language."

"You're going to love it here."

"You're going to love it here."

"You're going to love it here."

Laughing quietly to myself

2012-01-12T23:06:00.000-05:00

About how I overheard a cashier at Sally Beauty Supply tell someone to put the warranty for her new curling iron "in the same place you keep your birth certificate." Apparently I've been seriously underestimating the value of curly hair.

Nashville soundbite

2012-01-08T14:23:00.000-05:00

I'd filled up the gas tank and was sitting in the front seat fiddling with the GPS and ripping open a Slim Jim with my teeth because many recent road trips have turned me into a straight-up gas station primate. I now have a favorite brand of beef stick because I'm eating so, so many of them in the car. Or is it a pepperoni stick? I don't know. I fear the ingredient list and refuse to read it but the brand is called SASQUATCH if you'd like to investigate. This is something that I don't do at home where I'm drawn more to things like avocados and green peppers. Seriously, though, eating an avocado while driving? I would have to ask that it be pitted, stuffed with beeferoni, and sheathed in plastic before I'd even consider it.

I heard a voice call out, "Miss, you forgot your fuel cap." I opened the door, leaned out to look back and sure enough, the cap was dangling. I got out and started to screw the cap back on but didn't see anyone around. "Who said that?" I asked. A man poked his out from behind a column and smiled. "Welcome to Tennessee," he added. I realized he was looking at the California plates on the car. "Thanks," I said. "I'm just moving here and like it so far."

"Everyone who comes here from California does," he drawled.

Meaning

2012-01-08T00:27:00.002-05:00

I've had something on my mind since Camp Mighty two months ago but the seeds of thought were planted much earlier, in 2008, when I wrote about my reaction to a man who smelled on the subway. That post was about my emotions and the overwhelming helplessness I feel when witnessing need in others. I wondered why I kept finding myself torn apart, just absolutely floored, by sadness because I wasn't always so wobbly-kneed. I then answered my own question by guessing (rightly so, I believe) that I'd been missing an important part of my life since I'd started working on music tours. Before touring, my work had a strong bent to social action with a few notable exceptions (Don Pablo's Mexican Kitchen! And all those pubs!) and without it I eventually I felt a void and I felt guilt. Guilt isn't my motivator nor my predominant sense, mainly because it's not useful long term and I'm finally getting inspired to brainstorm on ways to create more meaning for myself since I'm probably not going to quit my job to become an organic farmer or work in an orphanage any time soon.

One of the speakers at Camp Mighty was Kenna. I used to think about Kenna as just that guy on my iPod because Matthew had given me his music but I hadn't taken much time to listen. When I saw that he would be speaking at camp, I was intrigued and when he took the stage, I was rapt. Kenna spoke about the music industry and his place in it. He spoke of the ego involved, the publicists and stylists, and the pressure. But first we had to call his mom to sing her happy birthday. He put her on speaker but didn't tell her right away that there were a hundred people listening.

"Mom?"
"Kenna!"
"Happy birthday, mom."
"Are you taking your vitamins?"
"Mom!"
"Have you met a nice girl yet?"
"Mom, I've got a bunch of people here. They want to sing for you..."

It was very endearing. After we sang and laughed and listened to Kenna and his mom chat more and got our heartstrings all but manhandled, he hung up and continued his talk. He had reached a successful point in his music career and was living large, following the sparkly path of fame, when he had a conversation with his father. In the conversation his dad mentioned that as a child in Ethiopia he'd suffered for years with a waterborne illness and that his brother died. Kenna was struck. He didn't know that he'd had a uncle who died as a child and that his own dad had lived ten years with the physical pain that comes from drinking contaminated water: crippling diarrhea, nausea, cramps, dehydration, vomiting, fever and the looming threat of death. His dad told him that he had saved $10,000 and that he wanted to use it to help a community in Ethiopia build a well.

Kenna's parents immigrated to the United States due to persecution by the government in Ethiopia, his father a former Minister of Agriculture. After spending two years separated from his parents and living with his grandfather in Ethiopia, Kenna joined his parents in the US and grew up in Virginia. He was close to his parents and lived in a generous house that took people in and helped family still in Ethiopia. The Zemedkum family sounds like a big-hearted and open-armed clan that instilled deep values in Kenna which hurt him all the more to realize he'd been oblivious to a huge, formative fact about his father's life. To hear Kenna speak about this was powerful. It was a moment in which he questioned his choices and how he'd been living. I don't want to put words in his mouth but what this sounded like to me, when I compared it to my life was: I may not be doing anything wrong but am I doing enough right?

Kenna's response was to turn his attention to the matter of clean water worldwide and from that Summit on the Summit took shape. To draw attention to the fact that a billion people don't have clean water to drink, he got high profile people to hike to the top of Mt. Kilimanjaro and got other high profile to donate money if they made it. Kenna proposed his idea to Justin Timberlake on a snowboarding trip and while J. Timbo wasn't able to do the climb, he introduced the documentary that was eventually made for MTV and Jessica Biel, Lupe Fiasco, Emile Hirsch, Isabel Lucas, and Santigold climbed with a number of experts, sherpas, documentarians, and, of course, Kenna. They made it to the top of the 19,340 foot peak on January 12, 2010 and Summit on the Summit's work is ongoing.

After Kenna's talk and Q & A session with Maggie, I approached him to say thanks. I told him that I'm a tour manager and that I struggle to keep my job from taking over my life at the expense of activism that's important to me so his story resonated big time. He laughed and told me to tell Randy Jackson what's up for him. I didn't get into the fact that while Randy and I have passed in the hall a few times, I have no interaction with the TV judges since I've taken over Idol only when the TV show ends and my link to the judges are more along the lines of "Yeah, I saw Paula Abdul on her phone out by the dumpster when I was on the way to the bus." Plus, I have since then left the Idol tour and am working for one of the Idols, Lauren Alaina, on her solo career. That's also beside the point. I'm just as busy as I ever was and still need to pay close attention to what's important to me.

Kenna was incredibly friendly and approachable and told me to get the contact info of one of the people he works with because collaboration is good. Regardless of what collaborations I forge or what issues I throw myself into, it was a good reminder how much is possible, at what scale, when you reach out to others and step out of your comfort zone whether that zone is calling someone you don't know or hiking at an elevation in which your eyeballs can freeze.

Something I've enjoyed while working with Lauren is the number of shows that we've done as benefit fundraisers. She's sung her heart out for cause after cause, one recurring topic being children's cancer. We've visited the St. Jude Children's Research Hospital in Memphis once and are going back again soon. ST. JUDE BLOWS MY MIND as one of the most intense examples of positive energy coexisting with crushing sorrow I've ever beheld. I'm in awe of the supreme strength of the children and families at St. Jude, not to mention those who work there.

I've set a goal for myself to find an organization that I can volunteer for when I have down time in Nashville. The side note to this would be to create down time when I feel like I don't have any. On an ever deeper level, I am mercilessly drawn to the idea that I need to write about my brother and my family. My parents spent years advocating and fighting for disability rights when I was young and I appreciate this more and more all the time. I face a huge amount of resistance to actually writing our story and have finished a total of only two chapters in two years but I also have an idea of how resistance works and am pretty sure that this just means I find the weight and meaning of it all intimidating. I believe, however, that telling stories is a potent way to build and create community. On the way to the coffeeshop today, I had a text conversation with Kelly who'd written out of the blue to offer writing support. Do I need a reader? Can I send an outline of ideas? What about a summer retreat in Tennessee? Do I realize that a chapter a month is a whole book in a year? Kelly has a lot of energy, as we all do especially when we channel it in the direction we truly crave.

Laughing quietly to myself

2012-01-05T12:40:00.000-05:00

About how I told Rob the two cassettes I bought at the same time in high school: Nine Inch Nails and James Taylor. He countered with his young double purchase of Helmet and C+C Music Factor. Fair play, Rob. You're just about as ~~confused~~ open-minded as me.

Edmond

2011-12-31T03:01:00.000-05:00

I stood in the taxi stand line at the hotel and waited for the bellman to whistle down a cab. It pulled up, Edmond at the wheel: 50s, grey mustache, baseball hat and wire-rimmed glasses. He looked like an older version of my soccer coach from ninth grade, the one who had us stand in a validation circle after each practice, our arms slung around each others' necks, sharing compliments of what we noticed each other do well that day. I told Edmond I needed to go to the bank and gave him the address. He coughed and apologized, "I just ate a sandwich." "Do your thing," I said. "It's cool."

A block or so later he asked me what my favorite Christmas gift was. I hesitated so he said, "Here, I'll tell you mine," and held up a wrist so I could see his watch. He pushed a button on the side, "It lights up!" "Nice!" I said, "Mine is leggings from my husband. They have eyeballs all over them."

"Where are you from?" He asked. "I'm from Montana." We got a little lost and he compared his GPS to his wife, "I think I know everything already but it's always better when I give in and ask for help." We found Chase but had to cross six lanes of traffic to get to the parking lot. Calmly he pulled into a lane of oncoming cars and sat unmoving. When they honked and went around us he told me, "I used to drive an ambulance so I still act like I have flashing lights and a siren." "You're very confident," I said.

On the way home from the bank we talked about marriage, the Grand Canyon, the far-right Republican party, and he drove a good 20 feet atop a center island to avoid waiting to get in the left turn lane. At one point in our conversation, I heard myself say, "I'd freeze to death if I had to choose how I'd die," and I knew Edmond is my current favorite cab driver. He may not obey traffic laws but he really seems to enjoy his work and is strangely engaging.

DECORATIVE USE ONLY

2011-12-27T23:31:00.000-05:00

Applebee's
Albuquerque, NM

Looking for a home, Nashville edition

2011-12-27T22:37:00.001-05:00

I thought moving from California would be difficult with the packing, loading the shipping containers, and driving but it turns out that moving to Nashville is harder. Where is our place here? We've been here looking for days and so far it's nowhere. I'm ultra-methodical when looking for a home and stalk Craigslist and property management sites, make phone calls and visit apartments to the detriment of anything else I may have to do. My mind swirls with THE CHOICES! and I mull over and weigh options until finally something makes sense. But the choices in Nashville thus far have been 1. sad 2. more sad and 3. depressing, I'm going to bed. We've found ourselves saying things like, "Well, if we're going to live on a sad street, then I'd rather be on that sad area." The city doesn't make sense yet to a degree that no amount of advice from others, driving for hours on end, and mad Googlemapping has solved. Everything so far has been out of our price range or dismal and I'm entirely confounded.

For years I had ability to attract unique or inexpensive homes - I was a caretaker for an old schoolhouse in Seattle and lived free in the nun's attic quarters, $500 for a room in a rent-controlled condo with brick walls and french doors to a patio in the East Village and at one point I almost lived on a boat - and from 1995 until a few years ago, my rent was almost always between $350 and $500. In Covington, we paid more than that and the place wasn't the perfect location but it had a LOAD of character and I'm a character junkie. I like urban and country, super old or super modern. I like the tall brick buildings of the inner city and log cabins and modular and mid-century. I subscribe to the idea that my surrounding's aesthetic affects my mind and swear that on a cul-de-sac my thoughts feel dead end. My ideas are bigger around tall buildings, trees, or mountains and fluid when I'm on water.

The first house we looked at in Nashville was nice inside but small. The smallness would have been fine if the vinyl siding of the outside wasn't as shabby, the front porch so dingy and the street so sad. "It is winter," we said as we walked down the sidewalk, "We have to imagine what this will look like in six months." But it also wasn't close to anywhere in the city we wanted to be and would have been a drive to everything. It had a yard and a park at the end of the street so Patsy would have been a happy dog but the humans would have been painting our nails black and popping Wellbutrin once they dried. It was cheaper than California but more than Cincinnati and Kentucky. I assumed we would easily shave off several hundred or even a third of our rent price by moving to Tennessee but this may not be true. We saw a place today that I nicknamed the moldy campground and it was only $150 cheaper than our Oceanside apartment. It was that house you went to a party at when you were 19: stained carpet, the walls listing oddly, cabinets that don't shut, extension cords run along the walls, and black in all the corners. It was on a beautiful street and looked great in the photos.

What I don't get is that Nashville has tons of artistic and musical residents, not all of whom can be rich. WHERE ARE YOU PEOPLE LIVING? I think it's more affordable to buy a house here than rent but we're not trying to buy a house. I've had people tell me that I need to live in East Nashville, or Sylvan Park, or Green Hills. We drive around and it looks great but nothing is for rent or it's boarded up or it's malls and tract housing at which point my brain's synapses quietly power down. One area, Germantown, I was warned against because it's supposedly not walkable to anything. We found it today and it was near a grocery, several cafes, and a farmer's market. I loved the buildings but everything was $1,800 or $2,000 a month. There is one Germantown house with a warehouse and watertower at the end of the street. Downtown is in the distance and modern row houses are around the corner. It was the warehouse and watertower that got me, though. In a potentially suburban setting, I actually find signs of industrialization comforting. The rent is less than $1,000 a month and we're going to see it tomorrow. Assuming we like the inside, the catch is that the current tenant doesn't know when she's moving out. "It could easily be by February," says the listing agent, "I'll be the first to know!"

Things I learned on the latest road trip

2011-12-24T15:19:00.001-05:00

- I need to buy several of these emergency seat belt cutter glass breaker LED light tools. Thanks Jim.

- My iPod on shuffle likes Sade waaaay more than I do.

- The Motel 6 chain has undergone a transformation in Arizona and New Mexico: laminate wood floors have replaced old carpets, new color-blocked bedspreads instead of stained flower prints, modern finishes, flat screen TVs, and all still under $50 a night. The same has not happened to the Oklahoma and Missouri Motel 6; those still smell like nursing homes.

- I used to love Mad Libs when I was a kid (The astronaut took off in a rocket hot dog, hahahhahahha!) but they are not funny now. In fact, after doing two Mad Libs I fell into a depression and we had to throw them away.

- I'm going to miss Oceanside and kept thinking about the dinner at Harney Sushi on our last night in town and everyone who came to it: Miguel, Mark, Marisa, Troy, Julie, Sam, Monique, Monica, Jacques, Job, Lauren, Alex, Pablo, Fabian. So awesome.

- Still, I'm REALLY excited to come home and got slaphappy right around Florence, KY. And Nashville is only 275 miles from Cincinnati.

Going west

2011-12-24T14:42:00.000-05:00

Scene from this time last year when we drove 2,220 miles in the other direction

New Mexico
Photo: Elise Thompson

Going east

2011-12-20T13:25:00.003-05:00

We're taking our time getting from Oceanside to Cincinnati. We drove from Flagstaff to Albuquerque yesterday, to the edge of the blizzard and the point that New Mexico shut down I-40 overnight. Check out of Motel 6 late today to let the storm move east and with luck will make it to Oklahoma City tonight.

ps Why do we keep moving during winter?

Preparedness

2011-12-20T13:12:00.006-05:00

"Oh my god, are there people in there?" We were driving east on I-40 just past Barstow, CA and to the right of the highway down an embankment was a smoking car turned upside down, a man running towards it. I slowed down as quickly as I could and pulled over to the shoulder. Matthew jumped out of the passenger door and began running. I backed the car along the shoulder, grabbed our phones, locked the doors and ran as well. I slid down the brush and gravel hill and when I got closer heard the man ask Matthew if he had a knife. Matthew pulled his Kershaw out of his pocket and handed it to him. I saw a woman's legs and heard her screaming. A boy of eight or nine was out of the car, standing about ten feet away, shaking and staring at the car, now on fire. Matthew and the man cut seat belts and pulled the baby and little girl through the windows. I put my arm over the boy's shoulder and across his chest and felt his heart racing. "They're getting out honey, it'll be okay."

Their mom was finally cut free and pulled out. A truck driver arrived with a fire extinguisher and the fire in the front and back of the car was doused. The family was banged up and cut and the mom was stumbling and wailing, "What happened? What happened?" She held her baby and looked at the car in shock and cried. She had no idea how her car had sailed off the highway and down the hill but a driver behind them saw the car swerve left, then right, and then was gone. The mom must have fallen asleep. She was moving to Chicago, driving her kids alone, and didn't get very far. Other cars stopped and more people helped with ice packs and water and pulled the family's suitcases over for the kids to sit on. They wrapped the kids in blankets and talked to them. Someone with OnStar called down the hill to tell us that the police and ambulance knew where we were and were on the way.

The first policewoman arrived and one of the bystanders filled her in on the kids' contusions and abrasions. I wished I were a nurse and knew words like contusion and was doing more than just rubbing the mom's legs and reminding her that her babies were safe. When more police showed up we felt in the way so we thanked the men we were standing with and went back to our car. As I drove away, I couldn't turn the music back on and I couldn't stop thinking about those children. They were so quiet; their mom was the only one making any noise. Were they okay? Was more wrong with them that we couldn't see? I couldn't stop thinking about how much worse it could have been: it might have happened on a less busy road with no witnesses. It could have happened after dark. The car could have gone to the left and into oncoming traffic. They could have not been wearing seat belts. The fire might have kept burning. Matthew might not have had a knife in his pocket. They could have easily lost their lives.

"Thank god you had your knife." They were stuck in there. "I'm a believer, I have to learn to use my knife now." #46 on my life list is to learn to open and close my switchblade properly. I put that on the list out of embarrassment, because I've had it for over a year and still feel like I'm going to injure myself every time I pick it up. I think it's funny to laugh at Matthew when he whips his knife out of his pocket to open a lollipop or a banana but I suddenly get it. Also, the AAA first aid kit I keep in the trunk is useless. I dabbed the baby's bloody nose with the tiny square of gauze in the kit and that was that. We already have two flashlights in the car and I keep a small one in my shoulder bag. I want to get more gauze, ace bandages, rubbing alcohol and blankets for the trunk. Maybe a glass breaker? Basically I want to become a first responder because I tend to take things too far. I hope the family is okay.

Henna #4

2011-12-16T22:12:00.001-05:00

I just had my fourth run-in with Lush henna and the first was in April so I'm looking at doing this process on my hair every two months until I say eff it and go grey. HMMMM. That is a bit more often than I'd like but I'm still digging the outcome, all natural looking and earthy and non-toxic, so be it. This time I mixed half a bar of caca rouge (red), half a caca brun (dark brown), and a whole caca marron (chesnut). I'm getting better at the application - boiling, grating, mixing, slopping - though it still looks, and always will I suspect, like a baby escaped its diaper and crapped all over the counter. I have now instituted a "dance once it's on" step and when the caca has been combed through and has started to harden into a helmut, I do a few moves to celebrate before getting to the business of hanging out in a shower cap for seven hours.

Laughing quietly to myself

2011-12-16T20:22:00.000-05:00

About how I asked for the internet password at the coffeehouse and the barista leaned in and said, "WATERMELON...ALL CAPS..." as slow and deliberate as if we were CIA agents. I've never heard watermelon sound so ominous.

#51 Be a mentor to a high school student

2011-12-11T09:52:00.002-05:00

In October I talked to Sunny about her job as an art teacher in a new (to her) school and mine as a tour manager. How weird is it, I said, that I didn't study business or music but I've learned how to work in the music business. She said that more than anyone she knows I'm not defined by my work and that I just apply my personality to whatever job I'm doing and figure it out.

I had to think about this because I feel very defined by my work. It's true, though, that while I sometimes think I'd like to take an audio class, I'm far more comfortable with staging, sound, and the geekier financial aspects of music management than I would have ever imagined back when I worked in books; I credit my parents and Montessori for making me so damn flexible. Sunny said it doesn't matter if I'm self-taught, I'm still an expert and should do the Ask an Expert program at her school.

At Sunny's public school in Chicago, seniors are matched up with "experts" to help them with their senior project, the main thesis question and the direction of research they are taking. I stalled for a minute due to doubts as to whether I reeeeeally know enough to call myself an expert but OKAY. If we are talking about research, I'm in. I love research like I love long walks on the beach at sunset. No wait, like soup. I love research like a good bowl of soup. Long walks on the beach at sunset are just okay.

I've learned this about the school, North Lawndale College Prep:

85% of graduates are the first from their families to go to college

Last year the school received over 1200 applications for 240 openings and all of the students, most of them from the West Side, were picked from a blind lottery

NLCP receives about $1,500 less per student from public sources than traditional Chicago public high schools so they still struggle with a funding gap

NLCP has led all charter and traditional Chicago Public high schools in percentage of graduates in college the fall after their graduation for the past two years

70% of graduates have gone on to 4-year colleges and 30% to 2-year colleges since 2005 and 25% of college graduates are in or have completed graduate school

I was matched up with my student, a young woman dancer who asked, "Does performing arts improve student academic success, social skills, and college readiness?"

We were paired because music is a performing art but I still had a moment. I was exposed to every performing art growing up but didn't make them mine. After elementary school, I wasn't in plays, I quit the piano, I sucked at guitar, I sang off key in church, my dancing consisted of flopping around during reggae shows and I chose the academic high school where I could bury my nose in books rather than the School for Creative and Performing Arts. I AM GOING TO FAIL THIS GIRL.

I got out of my fear by pulling from all the examples I have surrounding me of what performing arts does for people's lives and turned to research to check up on the status of the arts in education these days. We ended up having a conversation on the phone since I wasn't in Chicago to go to the school and meet La'Keithia in person. We both explained where we were coming from, asked a lot of questions, and I hope I helped lead her down paths she hadn't considered and supported the direction she had started to take.

I learned a lot too.

American business leaders want an innovative work force yet arts education is not recognized as key to the solution.

Arts education strengthens cognitive development, innovative and creative thinking, critical reflection, communication skills, enhances social adaptability, cultural awareness and enables kids to have tolerance and acceptance, appreciation of others.

Art gives kids who are not book learners a way to express their own intelligence.

Art opens up new opportunities, gives kids something positive to do who may not have a lot of other choices. I'm talking about secretly talented gang bangers here.

Unlike curriculum in which correct answers and rules prevail, in the arts people use judgment over rules. There are many ways to see and interpret the world.

The arts help children learn to say what cannot be said.

Studies show that involvement in the arts helps kids increase test scores and promotes academic achievement.

The arts offer a way for people to tell their stories, use their imagination, become active learners and imagination and expression are at the center of the learning process

The arts in school symbolizes to the young what adults think is important.

Finally, ARTS ARE THE SPARK OF CIVILIZATION. No biggie!

Laughing quietly to myself

2011-12-10T00:25:00.002-05:00

About how I called home to see what Matthew was doing and he was sewing a button on a shirt and watching Roseanne.

GPS fail

2011-12-09T23:30:00.004-05:00

For the record, "liquor store" is not a searchable category on the GPS.

Words I've programmed into my phone so I don't get auto-corrected

2011-12-09T16:46:00.001-05:00

Bumpit - I overheard a comedian say, when asked how he was wearing his hair for an awards show, that he was doing a combover with a Bumpit.

Yons - If the Western Pennsylvania "yuns" and the southern "y'all" mated, they would have this illegitimate word child.

Sho, and its relative, nuff.

Purdy - You sho look it. Yeah, you.

Muts - How Matthew and I say "much". I should probably be embarrassed now.

Fanger - Finger. Not vampire related.

Dang - My phone kept correcting this to "wang".

Waaaaow - Wow. See Flavor Flav.

Mernin - When you wake up.

Dadgum

Daggone

Ridickalous

#96 Buy from local and independent artists and businesses

2011-12-09T12:50:00.000-05:00

#96 on my life list is to buy from local and independent artists and businesses. This is something I do quite a bit of already so I guess my intention is to find more local and independents to support and to expand the network of people I know are making cool shrit (Shrit, I recently learned, is what they say in Georgia to avoid saying the s-word!). Here's a short list of people and places who are making things I covet, the list I want to add to this year. This is sort of in honor of holiday gifts since it's December and all but I think it's just as fun and sometimes more meaningful to give when there's no occasion except that you felt like it so this is a year-round endorsement, suckas.

- Sock Dreams Portland, OR
I recommend Sock Dreams to someone approximately four times a week during the colder months, every time I get a comment on my arm warmers. I once led myself and Monica on a high speed chase through the one-way streets and many confusing bridges of Portland in order to visit the Sock Dreams store before it closed instead of just buying online. We barely made it, the girl behind the counter was cool, and now I'm just as happy to keep buying online since they make sure your bundle of socks, arm warmers, leg warmers are sent out and sitting on your porch within a couple of days.

- Queen Bee Creations - Rebecca Pearcy. Portland, OR
I've bought vinyl bags and wallets from Queen Bee over the last ten years (at least), most recently a wallet at the Portland Airport. It's black, red, and blue, my favorite colors. It snaps shut and is easy to use, it doesn't show any sign of wear after a year, and it's big enough to hold all my shrit. I have a lot of shrit.

- The Commission Project, Art by Paul Ferney San Francisco & Paris
I found Paul Ferney on Mighty Girl and think a small commissioned painting from a photograph is just about the best present possible.

- Cats in Clothes - Heather Mattoon
I'm not even a cat person but I can totally get behind Cats in Clothes. My friend has a cat who looks like Vincent ("Vincent plays football, or soccer for Americans, he is European. He takes acting classes and loves his hoodie.") Oh, we laughed. I tried to find out more about Heather Mattoon but the About the Artist section on the website appears to be in Latin so we are going to have to let the cats speak for themselves.

- Pyrrha - Wade Papin and Danielle Wilmore
Wax seal jewelry handmade in Vancouver from reclaimed and recycled 14k gold and sterling silver. I bought Matthew a wax seal necklace of a bee in the Los Angeles Pyrrha store this time last year. I let him wear it for awhile but have had it around my neck every day since June so I guess I'm taking the "reclaim" part of Pyrrha's mission statement a bit too literally.

- Blackett Body Basics Seattle, WA
My girl, the notorious powerhouse Laura Blackett. Handmade all-natural body products that she whips up in between the raising of three children and the other dozen projects that she has planned each day.

- Art & Invention Gallery Nashville, TN
I found Art & Invention over the summer and have been back three times when I've been in Nashville. I've found handmade wedding presents, birthday presents, and no reason at all presents here. My second time back the door was locked so I was peeking through the window. The owner was inside painting the walls but she opened the door, excused the mess, and welcomed me in to walk around and then counted out the change by hand for the artwork I bought since the register was off. That is some seriously friendly Bob Roncker-level of customer service.

- Our own RACECAR
Independent music label by Matthew Cooper, Evan Sharfe, and Cody Norenberg based in Oceanside, CA soon to be Nashville, Cincinnati, and Weimar, Germany.

- Buy Olympia
A small business in Portland, OR that started in 1999 in Olympia, WA to help their friends sell handmade goods online. Art, paper goods, books, journals, clothes, jewelry, household, bags, belts, etc. I think I found Buy Olympia when I was interning for Seal Press and writing a resource section for a book back in my Seattle days.

- Fab.com
Halle invited me to Fab.com a few months ago. Fab.com is based on good design and big discounts. A page of daily shops appear in your inbox each day, many by artisans and small businesses. They can be crazy expensive or crazy inexpensive but they are all good deals for what they are and they make it waaaay too easy. Sometimes I have to tell myself, "You will not look at Fab.com today, you are too emotionally vulnerable to be trusted around all those designers." Get thee invited to Fab.com. Psst, I can invite you so just ask.

GERMAN FOR AWESOME

2011-12-06T00:48:00.000-05:00

A big round of applause for Gary for sharing this with me. You're the best, Penderson.

Big Sur Thanksgiving

2011-12-05T04:37:00.000-05:00

I'm in Vegas where it's all cowboys, country music, and miniskirts but two weeks ago I was in Big Sur for Thanksgiving. I usually come to Vegas for work and end up laughing at myself because in sharp contrast to the drunken bros yelling in the hallway and sparkly gals in bandage dresses, I'm sitting in my room wearing a flannel and working on my Amex receipts. The couple of times I came to Vegas and acted like I was in Vegas - (1) when I got married at the Graceland Chapel and (2) for Sunny's 30th birthday when Shane made me get a lap dance from a local female art student who also happened to be a stripper and I was legitimately shocked upon leaving the club to realize that the sun would be coming up soon - it was fun. But, even then, three days of hanging out on the strip saw me crawling to a poolside lounge chair where I laid fully clothed and immobile, wanting nothing more than to return to New York where the stimulus felt less manufactured. After I was married here, four momentous minutes after being single, we stood outside the chapel waiting for a cab and I stared at the neon signs in the window of a bail bonds joint. There was so much good: we were hitched! Lovely people witnessed! The Elvis who gave me away was super cool! But Vegas, you are not for me. Big Sur on the other hand? Thanksgiving dinner of $30 of snacks from the Ragged Point mini mart was just right, especially the Flamin' Hots.

Secret Service bicep

2011-11-21T22:02:00.000-05:00

I don't get starstruck easily but Y'ALL. It was the WHITE HOUSE. Obama lives here? I'm in Obama's house? I didn't meet Barack and Michelle but it didn't even matter. I stood on the porch and looked at the Washington Monument, walked around with a female secret service agent who showed us the movie theater and bowling lane. The performers at the Country Music in Performance at the White House show were great in the rehearsals I went to: Lyle Lovett, Dierks Bentley, Darius Rucker, The Band Perry, Alison Krauss, Kris Kristofferson, Mickey, James Taylor, Lauren Alaina. I kept looking at the oil portrait of Teddy Roosevelt from my chair in the East Room, "That painting is old. It's an original. That's Teddy motherf'ing Roosevelt." I held it together, except when I touched the bicep of a secret service guy. I've never felt a muscle like that in my life; I recoiled. I sensed it would be inappropriate to curse so I huffed out some nonsense, "Gooaaagawd..." and then went silent.

Monstruobot and the Librarian

2011-11-21T18:48:00.000-05:00

The Librarian opened for Monstruobot at Silverlake Lounge on Nov 8. Matthew was all "Eh, I was okay," but really, it was fantastic.

Monstruobot is Miguel Boxerinlove and Hota Martín, a duo from the Canary Islands. Matthew and Miguel have known each other online for several years but it was the first time they met in person, a joyous occasion because Hota was sweet and Miguel couldn't have been more warm and funny and silly if he'd been wearing a shirt printed of cats wearing eye patches. Oh, wait.

I tried to take a photo of him and his cat shirt but my camera konked out, only to magically start working later. My camera is not a cat person. Monstruobot wear orange prison jumpsuits onstage but are always open to new getups. I suggested a few but am way behind the curve because they have either already considered or tried my ideas: playing as bears or astronauts.

As for the type of music they make, I'm the world's worst at music description, especially for someone who works in music but also because people make up genres all the time and then act like they are A THING, YOU DIDN'T KNOW THAT? DUH so I looked online and found Monstruobot described as technoise pop, new wave chillwave post-punk, and "it's like if The Cure went all 'surf's up!'" Why didn't I think of that? Probably because I'm still stuck on trying to figure out Witch house and Shoegaze.

I liked them a lot.

A Gathering of Muses

2011-11-20T13:57:00.000-05:00

Maria De Castro
A Gathering of Muses
Clay
Artist Statement: Like a canary in a coal mine, birds sense the first sense of trouble on our planet. Through their travels they are directly exposed to the effects of man on the environment. Blending cultures, religions, ethnicities, beliefs, and icons into one harmonious piece reflects my desire for a harmonious world.
San Diego Botanical Gardens

Cooper family visit

2011-11-20T13:50:00.002-05:00

Before I got all jazzed about getting to go to a blogger conference and in between travel, I had a week at home, another chunk of time I negotiated off when I took my current job. Judy and Jim, my parents in law from Kentucky, visited us! This was cool because they'd never been to California and because it gives me perspective to show off our surroundings with new-goggles on. I've gotten used to the giant tortoise on the block and the shiny sparkly ocean at the end of the street that I've swam in a total of NEVER times since January. It sure looks refreshing, though.

We went to the San Diego botanical gardens where we saw these guys.

I doubt they have Mariachi plant people in Nashville. I only just found them but I'm going to miss them. In La Jolla we poked around the cliffs.

We went to an antiquated La Jolla bookstore where the scent of thousands of musty pages was tranquilizing. I bought a dollar book of Berlin street art. The owner spent a good deal of time sitting on the sidewalk drinking wine with his friends. That guy has something figured out.

We drove east through the hills to Iron Mountain, where it looks like someone above took handfuls of boulders and scattered them over the hills like pebbles. I remembered the rock formation I saw when I hiked Iron Mountain last Spring with Kelly and Robin, where giant's fingers reach out from the earth and up towards the sky.

Camp Mighty, the first night

2011-11-19T01:17:00.002-05:00

There is a lot of awesome to cover from Camp Mighty last weekend. Like, a LOT. But first I've had to sleep, work, and travel (ongoing themes). I started writing this from New Bern, NC, a town I didn't know about until now - it's lovely - and am finishing in Memphis; tomorrow I fly to DC. I've also been to LA and Charlotte since I left Palm Springs on Saturday.

A week ago I was in my hotel room at the Ace Hotel in Palm Springs. I'd sped in from Oceanside and was trying to finish up some advance work for that week's shows before hitting the Camp Mighty welcome party that night. I wanted to clear my psychic scramble a bit before meeting a room full of strangers and also I was nervous. We'd been divided into groups with our own Facebook pages but I'd kept a low profile because I was so busy and hadn't really gotten to know anyone online.

Friday night felt like the first day of junior high and I was weirdly nervewracked with anticipation. Where will I eat lunch? Should I do my side ponytail high or low? I was also reminded of starting the Trek America job ten years ago. Then, Sara drove me down the coast from San Francisco to LA and as we got closer and closer to my drop off point, the Adventurer Hostel by LAX where happy hour margaritas were served by the grimy pool for a buck apiece, she soothed me like I was a kid going to camp, "You're going to have so much fun and make so many friends..."

So I called Sara from Palm Springs. Do you remember that speech you gave me in 2001? I also called Jocardo. He was in a car full of screaming Dominicans on the way to a club in DC so we mostly yelled at each other over the hubbub. And I did something that I never would have imagined even a few years ago: I worked on a couple of budgets WHICH CALMED ME DOWN. I told Jocardo the effect the budgets had on me and he said, "Well sure, that's something you have control over...". Oh right. Who needs therapy? Well, me but that's a different blog.

When I closed the computer and went to the party, I got my Ecco Domani glass of wine and drifted around the room, not landing anywhere until a woman whipped into my sight and stuck her hand in mine. Elaina! Elaina broke the ice like nobody's biz and was so open and energetic and funny, I immediately started feeling like me again not the little girl wearing big glasses and Forenza shorts. It didn't matter so much where I ate lunch! The tang cocktails were free! The ladies were smart and inspiring and not mean jerks! Camp Mighty was on.

Laughing quietly to myself

2011-11-18T11:15:00.001-05:00

About how I was standing in a Memphis radio station this morning while the DJs were on the air and felt something in my sock. I (discreetly?) pulled my boot off and reached into my sock and pulled out a CHUNK OF BACON. I want to say that, "Wow, I'm that person?" But I don't think "people who find bacon in their socks" exists. Until now, my friends. Until now.

ps I had a room service cobb salad last night.

High Line view

2011-11-03T10:41:00.000-04:00

Halle took this photo from the High Line and it reminds me of my life list. Not because I love cars, parking, and want to be an alpine mountaineer - I have zip interest in those things - but because of the juxtaposition and intersection of nature and city extremes. My favorite places have some element of extreme to them - New York, Berlin, Iceland, Alaska - and the motivation behind parts of my list is deepening those experiences. I also want to make a quilt out of old clothing so I'm not exactly a full-time adrenaline junkie. Numbers 101 and 102 on my list could be to never, ever have to try to escape from the claws of a grizzly bear or the cold embrace of an icy crevasse. Who knows, though? When I make it to that Alaskan cabin (#14), a curious bear may take it upon himself to sniff it out and I will be forced to hide indoors and sneak photos through the windows. I'm prepared for that.

charity: water

2011-11-02T20:55:00.001-04:00

One of the things I'm doing to prepare for Camp Mighty is represent for my team, Team Two (woop!), in fundraising for charity: water. Each group's goal is $200 per person or $5,000 total. There are four groups so we are aiming to raise $20,000 before Camp Mighty even starts. Nifty, huh?

Please read below, watch the video and consider donating here. If you donate, please mention my name in the comment section. If you're in Oceanside, CA this weekend maybe I'll see you on the bike path as I will be channeling my inner 8-year-old and will be selling water and snacks and generally chatting it up on behalf of charity: water.

100% of your donation will directly fund freshwater projects in developing nations and every dollar raised is tracked to a water project.

charity: water focuses on life’s most basic need -- water. Water affects everything: education, health, poverty, and especially women and children.

One billion people live without clean drinking water all over world. Diseases from unsafe water and lack of basic sanitation kill more people every year than all forms of violence, including war.

Women and children usually bear the burden of water collection, walking miles to the nearest source, which is unprotected and likely to make them sick. Clean water nearby means more than safe drinking water; it means time, freedom and incentive to change communities.

When a water project is built in a community, members can often use the new water source to grow small gardens near their homes and secure their own food supply. Self-sufficient households are less affected by external conflict, famine or inadequate government services.

charity: water served its first one million people at the end of 2009. By 2050, the world's population is estimated to grow by three billion and 90% of this growth will be in the developing world. Unless sustainable water solutions are scaled fast, regions already stressed for safe water sources will be over capacity. We’re expanding our reach to meet these demands and will not stop until every person has safe water to drink.

Water Changes Everything. from charity: water on Vimeo.

And thank you...x

Life List

2011-11-01T23:25:00.002-04:00

1. Learn to play drums
2. Go to Japan
3. Go to Ireland
4. Write in my journal as much as I write on the computer
5. Learn bookbinding
6. Design my own website for Ronckytonk
7. Walk across a country (Nepal, perhaps)
8. Do vocals on a song with Matthew
9. Set up a European RACECAR tour
10. Have a yard
11. Learn to sail
12. Sail on a trip of at least several days
13. Write a book about my brother
14. Spend a week in a cabin in Alaska
15. Learn to skateboard
16. Build an eco-house
17. Have a vegetable garden
18. See U2 in concert
19. Print up all photos from my computer
20. Revisit Berlin
21. Revisit Iceland
22. Stay in an Ice Hotel
23. Subscribe to the New York Times Sunday
24. Find a dance class
25. Hike Appalachian Trail
26. Snowboard in Colorado
27. Go to Moogfest in Asheville, NC
28. Call or work on a letter to an old friend every week
29. Attend BlogHer
30. See Patton Oswalt stand up comedy
31. Go to the Canary Islands
32. Volunteer for CISV
33. Be a Natural Ass human generator at a Pedal Power concert
34. Go to Space Camp
35. Learn how to build a fire
36. Go fishing
37. Learn to make 30 soups
38. Listen to storytelling at The Moth NYC
39. Visit 35 US contemporary art museums: Aldrich Contemporary Art Museum (Ridgefield, CT), Artspace (New Haven, CT), Atlanta Contemporary Art Center, Virginia MOCA (Virginia Beach, VA), CAM St. Louis, ~~Cincinnati CAC~~, CAMH (Houston), Contemporary Museum Baltimore, Chinati Foundation (Marfa, TX), DCCA (Wilmington, DE), ~~Henry Art Gallery (Seattle)~~, Institute of Contemporary Art (Boston),
Kemper Museum of Contemporary Art (Kansas City, MO), MMoCA (Madison, WI), ~~MASS MoCA (North Adams, MA)~~, MCA Chicago, MOCA Cleveland, MCA Denver, MOCAD (Detroit), MOCA GA (Atlanta), MOCA Jacksonville (Florida), MOCA Los Angeles, MOCA North Miami (Florida), MCASD (San Diego, CA), New Museum (New York, NY), CAC New Orleans, ~~MoMA (New York, NY)~~, MoMA PS1 (Long Island City, NY), Rochester Art Center (Rochester, MN), CMCA (Rockport, ME), The Renaissance Society (Chicago), SFMOMA (San Francisco),
SITE Santa Fe (New Mexico), ~~Walker Art Center (Minneapolis)~~, ~~Whitney Museum of American Art (New York, NY)~~
40. Visit the Getty Museum (Los Angeles)
41. Visit Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art (Bentonville, AR)
42. Become more vocal blog participant and commenter
43. See Alain de Botton speak
44. Take a class at The School of Life in London
45. Stay in a Living Architecture building in the UK
46. Learn to open and close my switchblade properly
47. Refinish the church pew
48. Get a sewing machine and learn to use it
49. Make a quilt out of old clothing
50. Recycle old denim and make into new things: skirt, bag, apron,
51. Be a mentor for a high school student
52. Play chess without a cheat sheet
53. Go to each distillery on the Kentucky Bourbon Trail: Four Roses, ~~Woodford Reserve~~, ~~Maker's Mark~~, Wild Turkey, Jim Beam, Heaven Hill
54. Go to Dollywood
55. Jump in the water on New Year's Day with the Coney Island Polar Bears
56. Go on one of my dad's historical hikes in Cincinnati
57. Go to the Blue Lagoon
58. See more Northern Lights (underwhelming the first time)
59. Visit Elinor in Sri Lanka
60. Open my Yoga for Indie Rockers DVD
61. Take a psychology course
62. Take a class at St. John's College (Annapolis, MD)
63. Go with Miguel to a coffee farm
64. Become a parent, biological or adoptive
65. Own a folding bike
66. Watch all Bear Grylls programs so that I can survive anytime, anywhere
67. Learn to use my camera
68. Take more photos
69. Buy a snazzy photo lens
70. Have a monthly date with Neill
71. ~~Subscribe to Rolling Stone and Spin magazine~~
72. Start learning Icelandic in the car from Oceanside to Cincinnati
73. Spend a month during winter in Scandinavian country
74. Treat my mom to a spa
75. Read The Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan
76. Watch or re-watch American Film Institute's top 100 films:
Citizen Kane (1941), Casablanca (1942), The Godfather (1972), Gone with the Wind (1939), Lawrence of Arabia (1962), The Wizard of Oz (1939), The Graduate (1967), On the Waterfront (1954), Schindler's List (1993), Singin' in the Rain (1952), It's a Wonderful Life (1946), Sunset Boulevard (1950), The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957), Some Like it Hot (1959), Star Wars (1977), All About Eve (1950), The African Queen (1951), Psycho (1960), Chinatown (1974), One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (1975), The Grapes of Wrath (1940), 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), The Maltese Falcon (1941), Raging Bull (1980), E.T. (1982), Dr. Strangelove (1964), Bonnie & Clyde (1967), Apocalypse Now (1979), Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939), Treasure of the Sierra Madre (1948), Annie Hall (1977), The Godfather Part II (1974), High Noon (1952), To Kill a Mockingbird (1962), It Happened One Night (1934), Midnight Cowboy (1969), The Best Years of our Life (1946), Double Indemnity (1944), Doctor Zhivago (1965), North by Northwest (1959), West Side Story (1961), Rear Window (1954), King Kong (1933), The Birth of a Nation (1915), A Streetcar Named Desire (1951), A Clockwork Orange (1971), Taxi Driver (1976), Jaws (1975), Snow White & The Seven Dwarves (1937), Butch Cassidy & The Sundance Kid (1969), The Philadelphia Story (1940), From Here to Eternity (1953), Amadeus (1984), All Quiet on the Western Front (1930), The Sound of Music (1965), M*A*S*H(1970), The Third Man (1949), Fantasia (1940), Rebel Without a Cause (1955), Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981), Vertigo (1958), Tootsie (1982), Stagecoach (1939), Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977), The Silence of the Lambs (1991), Network (1976), The Manchurian Candidate (1962), An American in Paris (1951), Shane (1953), The French Connection (1971), Forrest Gump (1994), Ben-Hur (1959), Wuthering Heights (1939), The Gold Rush (1925), Dances With Wolves (1990), City Lights (1931), American Graffiti (1973), Rocky (1976), The Deer Hunter (1978), The Wild Bunch (1969), Modern Times (1936), Giant (1956), Platoon (1986), Fargo (1996), Duck Soup (1933), Mutiny on the Bounty (1935), Frankenstein (1931), Easy Rider (1969), Patton (1970), The Jazz Singer (1927), My Fair Lady (1964), A Place in the Sun (1951), The Apartment (1960), Goodfellas (1990), Pulp Fiction (1994), The Searchers (1956), Bringing up Baby (1938), Unforgiven (1992), Guess Who's Coming to Dinner (1967), Yankee Doodle Dandy (1942)
77. Drink a Pisco Sour on the beach
78. Move to Nashville
79. Join writer's group in Nashville
80. Own a Japanese sake cup bathtub
81. Take a cooking class
82. Frame art that's important to me
83. Go on New Orleans walking cocktail tour
84. Collaborate on hitRECord
85. Have a glass of wine at glass-enclosed New York Central Restaurant over 42nd St.
86. Travel by train from one US Coast to another
87. Watch or re-watch 100 documentaries:
The Cove (2010), Spellbound (2002), God's Next Army (2006), Truth or Dare (1991), TransGeneration (2004/2005), The Century of the Self (2002), The Kid Stays in the Picture (2002), A Film Unfinished (2010), When We Were Kings (1996), When the Levees Broke: A Requiem in Four Acts (2006), One Day in September (1999), Wartorn 1861-2010 (2010), Jesus Camp (2006), 9/11: Press for Truth (2006), Grizzly Man (2005), The Mormons, Frontline (2007), The Eyes of Tammy Faye (2000), Shut Up & Sing (2006), Fahrenheit 9/11 (2004), Man on Wire (2008), Gasland (2010), Tarnation (2003), Murderball (2005), The Power of Nightmares: The Rise of the Politics of Fear (2004), The Filth and the Fury (2000), All Watched Over By Machines of Loving Grace (2011), Lake of Fire (2006), Who the #$&% Is Jackson Pollock? (2006), New World Order (2009), The Corporation (2003), Darwin's Nightmare (2004), Neshoba: The Price of Freedom (2010), Inside Job (2010), Taxi to the Dark Side (2007), Paragraph 175 (2000), Brother’s Keeper (1992), Tongues Untied (1989), Dogtown and Z-Boys (2001), Food, Inc. (2008), Street Fight (2005), Bus 174 (2002), Crumb (1994), Dark Days (2000), The Fog of War (2003), Bowling for Columbine (2002), Paris Is Burning (1991), Trouble the Water (2008), An Inconvenient Truth (2006), The Celluloid Closet (1995), The War Room (1993), Little Dieter Needs to Fly (1998), The Decline of Western Civilization Part II: The Metal Years (1988), Burma VJ (2008), Catfish (2010), The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters (2007), Philosophy: Guide to Happiness (2000), Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room (2005), Paradise Lost: The Child Murders at Robin Hood Hills (1996), Exit Through the Gift Shop (2010), Capturing the Friedmans (2003), Touching the Void (2003), Supersize Me (2004), Biggie & Tupac (2002), March of the Penguins (2005), Waltz With Bashir (2008), Roger & Me (1989), The Thin Blue Line (1988), Hoop Dreams (1994), Jupiter's Wife (1995), RFK Must Die: The Assassination of Bobby Kennedy (2007), The Cruise (1998), We Live in Public (2009), Joy Division (2007), Dogs Decoded (2010), 9/11: The Falling Man (2006), My Flesh and Blood (2003), Enemies of the People (2009), Popaganda: The Art & and Crimes of Ron English (2005), Manufacturing Consent: Noam Chomsky and the Media (1992), Examined Life (2008), Cropsey (2009), I Like Killing Flies (2004), Hype! (1996), The Trials of Darryl Hunt (2006), The Trials of Henry Kissinger (2002), No End in Sight (2007), Art & Copy (2009), Helvetica (2007), Scottsboro: An American Tragedy (2000), Scratch (2001), Capitalism: A Love Story (2009), For the Bible Tells Me So (2007), The Oath (2010), Beyond Belief (2007), The U.S. vs. John Lennon (2006), Sex Positive (2008), Outrage (2009), Gonzo: The Life and Work of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson (2008), The Times of Harvey Milk (1984), A Brief History of Time (1991)
88. Have my own work space
89. Work on public speaking so that I like it again
90. Cut out dairy for a month and see what happens (whee!)
91. Listen or re-list to the 50 albums that changed music according to The Guardian UK:
The Velvet Underground and Nico, Self-titled (1967); The Beatles, Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band (1967); Kraftwerk, Trans-Europe Express (1977; NWA, Straight Outta Compton (1989); Robert Johnson, King of the Delta Blues Singers (1961); Marvin Gaye, What's Going On (1971); Patti Smith, Horses (1975); Bob Dylan, Bringing it All Back Home (1965); Elvis Presley, Self-titled (1956); The Beach Boys, Pet Sounds (1966); David Bowie, The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars (1972); Miles Davis, Kind of Blue (1959); Frank Sinatra, Songs for Swingin' Lovers (1956); Joni Mitchell, Blue (1971); Brian Eno, Discreet Music (1975); Aretha Franklin, I Never Loved a Man the Way I love You (1967); The Stooges, Raw Power (1973); The Clash, London Calling (1979); Mary J Blige, What's the 411? (1992); The Byrds, Sweetheart of the Rodeo (1968); The Spice Girls, Spice (1996); Kate Bush, The Hounds of Love (1985); Augustus Pablo, King Tubby Meets Rockers Uptown (1976); Youssou N'Dour, Immigres (1984); James Brown, Live at the Apollo (1963); Stevie Wonder, Songs in the Key of Life (1976); Jimi Hendrix, Are You Experienced (1967); Prince and the Revolution, Purple Rain (1984); Pink Floyd, The Dark Side of the Moon (1973); The Wailers, Catch a Fire (1973); The Stone Roses, The Stone Roses (1989); Otis Redding, Otis Blue (1965); Herbie Hancock, Head Hunters (1973); Black Sabbath, Black Sabbath (1970); The Ramones, The Ramones (1976); The Who, My Generation (1965); Massive Attack, Blue Lines (1991); Radiohead, The Bends (1995); Michael Jackson, Thriller (1982); Run DMC, Run DMC (1984); Chic, Self-titled (1977); The Smiths, The Smiths (1984); Primal Scream, Screamadelica (1991); Talking Heads, Fear of Music (1979); Fairport Convention, Liege and Lief (1969); The Human League, Dare (1981); Nirvana, Nevermind (1991); The Strokes, Is This It? (2001); De La Soul, 3 Feet High and Rising (1989); LFO, Frequencies (1991)
92. Read How Nashville Became Music City USA by Michael Kosser and listen to the artists from the book
93. Take Neill on vacation
94. Take a martial art again
95. Have a pair of custom boots made
96. Buy gifts from local and independent artists and businesses
97. Find local volunteer opportunities
98. Make a bookshelf
99. Start a business
100. Do a form of street art

I'm going to Camp Mighty

2011-10-29T01:40:00.002-04:00

I've worked on the American Idol tour for the past seven summers and had plentiful good times but I also missed a lot: a Bronx summer reevaluating my life and possibly my decision to quit my publishing job, a Columbus summer with Bova flowing with gin & tonics, laughter, and solitude (I used to sit in his living room and underline A LOT of philosophy), a summer in LA which would have hastened an inevitable break up, a couple of summers in Kentucky with Matthew and all the backyard parties and cut off jean shorts that entails (apparently no slim figure) and finally, I missed BlogHer conferences.

I've read accounts of BlogHer with envy, nice I want to be your friend envy, not mean I want what you have and would poke you in your eye to get it envy, but envy nonetheless. Each summer I'd become immersed in my job, stepping far away from my blog and feeling like I was starting over each September. I always wished I was going to BlogHer to meet all the smart ladies I lurk about online but instead I was on a midnight bus to Tulsa eating string cheese and drinking a Bud Light.

When Maggie Mason and Laura Mayes announced Camp Mighty, I was thrilled. It's in November and therefore not summer, it's in Palm Springs so I can drive, and that's all it took. I signed on immediately.

This summer I was offered a job tour managing promo for one of the Idols' new albums and I took the job on the condition that I had certain dates off, like Nov 10 - 12. It's been tricky trying to do everything well at once - do well in my relationship even though I'm not home much, do well in my job because I have pride and care about the people I'm working for, and do well creatively. It hurts to write this next sentence but, ah well, I think it's true: because I'm not getting paid for being creative and being married, I think those areas are taking the biggest hits right now. I will smile through bloodshot eyes to make sure I get my job done but I'm not writing much and no amount of phone calls a day are equal to the simply being next to someone you love.

Nov 10 - 12 is creeping up and I'm starting to feel like Camp Mighty has jungle eyes. Yeah, I'm likening drinking a poolside cocktail at the Ace Hotel to a panther staring at me through the pitch, eyes glassy and reflective. I have to prepare! I'm on a team and we are raising money for charity: water, a non-profit that brings clean drinking water to people in developing nations. And by we I mean they because I've done fuck all. My personal Charity Water brainstorm session starts Sunday when I'm hanging out in Nashville with Matthew, my last show of the week completed.

I'm also in process of writing my Life List of 100 things I want to accomplish with relish. Big, small, and medium-sized, these are the items on my bucket list that I need to have noted and ready to dissect for Camp Mighty. Sounds fun? It is. And hard. I had no idea. I've worked on it mainly on planes this last week and it's finally getting up there; I think I'm at #84.

Laughing quietly to myself

2011-10-19T14:27:00.001-04:00

About how when I was riding bikes through Oceanside with Marisa and I asked her which street we should take to cross Mission, she said the street with the light BECAUSE DANGER DOESN'T TAKE A HOLIDAY.

They hate elves

2011-10-14T23:37:00.000-04:00

Due to corporate relationships that I'm not at liberty to discuss, I can't say exactly why I find this photo funny and yet I'm compelled to share...I know, annoying. The palm tree enemy is really for Elise since she was witness to my most vehement outbursts against palms when we moved to California and walked around Oceanside those first few days. The Keebler Elf enemy is unrelated except that it happens to be on a truck parked in front of a palm and I might have once heard an executive say sort of joking and SORT OF TOTALLY SERIOUSLY say, "We hate elves."

And I laughed but instantly mourned because I wouldn't be able to blog about it for real.

I don't hate elves. But I love that there are people in the world who can say that and have their reasons.

Going away

2011-10-11T23:30:00.002-04:00

Sunny, Mandy, and I have always talked about going away together. We used to imagine a garret apartment in Paris where we would live poverty-stricken, adventurous lives and would know when not to enter our shared flat due to the colored bandana-over-the-doorknob system that told when one of us had a boy over. I love that we never imagined enough money to have our own space; it was always small and close. When Sunny and I met Mandy in junior high, we started sneaking out of our homes and trying to get in trouble.

I think we were all impatient for MORE: more age and freedom and independence. I know that more than anything, I craved experience. I wanted to rack up experiences like bright beads and wear them as a necklace, a hemp necklace. (It was the 90s). I thought about other girls I knew who followed rules better, many of whom I liked and were my friends but who I didn't necessarily feel as inspired by because they weren't as daring. I thought I'd rather question everything and make mistakes and learn my own way. I remember thinking, "I'd want my child to be this way."

This past weekend, Sunny, Mandy and I finally went away together to Union Pier, on Lake Michigan, with their girls Freddie Jane and Sarah Grace, aged 2-and-a-half and 2 years old.

Photo: Sunny Neater-Dubow

It was nuts in a really calming, wine-drinking, walk to the beach sort of way. In some ways I still see our cravings, the more-more-more thirst for whatever it is we want and in others a bizarrely complementary patience reigns. Slow to marry and mate, their babies are so young and we are all still young enough yet we're 20 years removed from our Paris dream, a dream that specifically wasn't important. None of us had a great love for the French, we just wanted to be out in the world. And we all got into it in our own way.

Photo: Sunny Neater-Dubow

I know that I'm old enough to be slightly terrified at the idea of all of the above: having kids, not having kids, having my kids be like me. When I was younger, I was glad I was so moody, petulant, and pissed off because I thought that meant I was thinking. Now I'm also glad I got out of a lot of scrapes in one piece because that thinking led me down some dark alleys.

I can't look at these little girls and wish dark alleys upon them for the sake of knowledge. I wish them confidence, joy, and curiosity. I watch them run around in circles, laughing and egging each other on and wonder if they'll get along when they're older. I think it's important that they see us make time for each other so that they'll value friendship. We laugh about how they might turn into princess-cheerleaders, so different than we were but we'll quell the cringe and love that about them, too.

I watched Mandy and Sunny sit on the floor and change their daughters into pajamas. Mandy passed a diaper to Sunny and I almost laughed by how similar they still looked to their high school selves, right down to their clothing. Everything has changed, and nothing.

Laughing quietly to myself

2011-10-11T18:11:00.000-04:00

About hotels that try so hard to be sexy or just so hard in general.

The sign under a light switch in Los Angeles that reads "Baby, you turn me on."

The hotel in Nashville where I have to call Matthew and debrief after ordering room service due to the officious way the staff asks permission to lift each silver lid off the food. Because I'm losing my mind I always have the sense that a) I'm rehabiting the mid-80s and have a butler, specifically Mr. Belvedere, or b) It's my senior year of high school and the Antioch College Sexual Offense Prevention Policy has come out in response to date rapes on the Yellow Springs, OH campus and consenting adults must obtain verbal consent before proceeding with each step of sexual advance. May I unveil your medium hamburger? May I wipe away the dew that has settled upon your water glass? Shall I heave over the pats of butter with tiny huffs of breath until you deem them spreadable?

After none of these things happen and I quash the whole charade with a quick "Oh naw, naw, I got it," the kitchen usually still calls up to the room to TALK ABOUT IT and make sure I had a good experience. That's when I call Matthew and say, "Next time, I'm secretly filming it so you know what I'm not exaggerating..."

It's incredible. I'm sure there are people this kind of service appeals to. If I didn't get so holed up in my room working, not wanting to break my momentum or waste time by going outside and finding a restaurant, I wouldn't even know about this shit. In New York at least I can be a workaholic and neurotic and still never succumb to room service because there is always something open, nearby, and quick to walk to.

But this hotel today in Midtown Manhattan has SHOT GLASSES instead of regular glasses to drink from in the bathroom. And even though they are double shots, do you know how frustrating it is to try to quench your thirst with shot after shot of water? I looked like a damn hamster last night and finally stuck my mouth to the faucet. I'm sure someone thought the shot glasses were clever, though.

Waking up in Union Pier, MI

2011-10-10T22:07:00.000-04:00

A. Skate

2011-10-08T11:41:00.000-04:00

Full disclosure: Despite all my talk of skating and the fact that I have my own board and there's a small colony of skateboards leaning up against the wall at my front door, I skated a total of ONE TIME this summer. ONE WONDERFUL, GLORIOUS TIME.

I've regretted the fact that I talked so much about skating before tour because by August I couldn't stop thinking what if I break my hands if I skate on a day off? How will I type and do my job with broken hands? Somehow I imagined a cast extensive enough to require a little stilt between my torso and arm. It was a bad break, bad enough to break both arms along with my hands. Really bad.

My one skate was in Salt Lake at the very beginning of the summer during rehearsals. I was walking around the city with Neil Wilson and we spotted a deserted parking garage underneath an apartment building. I scooted around and leaned this way and that and took a few turns and was pretty pleased with myself. Nothing fancy but it felt like a solid start.

For the rest of summer I was harassed by Neil Rinden and Tyler, both of whom would ask me periodically how my skating was going and then make fun of me for being a poser. Neil Rinden was particularly relentless and kept asking to see my wheels to which I kept giving him the finger. Finally, on the second-to-last show day he said that we had to do a photo shoot of me "tearing it up." Sure, I said, no problem.

I forgot, though, how crazy the last show day is. There is so much to wrap up and close out and take care of and it's one of those days where I want to be sentimental and thank everyone personally from the bottom of my heart for all their hard work but I end up resorting to Lamaze breathing to try to calm the fuck down and at best manage to share a few beers in the parking lot after load out.

When I saw Neil in the dressing room corridor that day he said, "Roncker, get your board out!" and I distinctly remember replying simply, "NO," over my shoulder as we passed. The photos didn't happen, the wheels still look new and I still can't skate very well but I still think it looks fun especially now that I'm less worried about the repercussions of being in a body cast.

But what I really wanted to tell you to check out is this: A.skate, a nonprofit for autistic kids.

Children with autism often struggle with the ability to follow directions, play on a team due to the lack of social skills, and many require activities to be performed on their own terms.

Autism, like skateboarding, can be unpredictable and often times unruly. We embrace the parts of autism that are hard to understand and give these kids an outlet that is free of rules or judgment, and allows them to be social without being “social”.

How cool is that?

ALL-GIRL RAGE TRIBUTE

2011-10-07T12:41:00.000-04:00

It happened in Nashville last night. Yeah, I'm bummed I missed it.

DTW

2011-10-04T09:28:00.000-04:00

You know you're traveling too much when you realize you're going through the Detroit airport SIX TIMES IN A TWO-WEEK PERIOD. DTW is arguably my favorite airport in the country but still, too much.

Laughing quietly to myself

2011-10-04T09:22:00.001-04:00

About how Matthew woke me up in the middle of the night talking in his sleep about what a good movie Karate Kid is.

Johnny Mañana's pt. 2

2011-09-28T01:26:00.000-04:00

Johnny Mañana's pt. 1

2011-09-27T21:49:00.005-04:00

I felt at home and lazy eating a burrito at Johnny Mañana's this weekend, laughing with Matthew about the night out before and planning to see Drive at the movie theater across the street later that evening. It was sunny and warm and relaxing on the patio until an idiot kid drove by and threw a M-80 firecracker into a stroller on the sidewalk. The baby who belonged to the stroller was being held at the table next to ours when it exploded. Our waitress investigated and laughed. The father inspected and came back calmly. I felt jumpier than everyone else at lunch was acting; maybe I'm not as relaxed as I thought.

I've been ON for months so coming home and unwinding is easier said than done. I want to calm down deeply. I don't want to portray calm so as to project an image and encourage those around me to feel confident, I want to feel it in my own motherfucking marrow but it takes time.

I got a massage in Manila. A tiny woman straddled my back and chopped up my butt cheeks like she was mincing vegetables. She wound my legs around sockets I wasn't aware of, stroked my scalp, and paid so much attention to each knuckle on my fingers, I could have kissed her. Instead, I tipped her big. I slept eight hours on the 13 hour flight home, drank wine like water, and saw everyone safely on their way. This would be my cue to take a deep breath.

Matthew: "Hey! I'm not an American Idol! You don't have to fight me!"

Me: "What? Oh."

Matthew: "This is a discussion, not a battle."

Me: "I'm sorry, you lost me."

One of the Idols was cracking me up, telling me that she's going to have PTSD, Post Traumatic Signing Disorder. She's caught herself smiling for cameras as she's falling asleep in that half-in/half-out state, alone in bed in the dark, flashing her teeth and cocking her head to the side. Another found herself murmuring to herself in her sleep, "Thank you, thank you so much for coming to the show..." We are all of us firmly anchored to what was required over the summer and now it's time to lift that. (It's heavy).

Have I mentioned that I'm grateful? I am. It was a great group to work with for many reasons. Part of the reason that it's harder to settle down right away is that I'm jumping quickly onto another project. It's smaller and more sporadic but still enough work to keep me from cartwheeling down the beach in my free time. Make that "free time". I'm grateful for this new work too, it's just hard because it feels like I'm losing the balance war.

Do you remember the time I asked Geoff, my old boss, how you balance home and work?

His answer was swift.

"You don't."

I found that depressing. I've never ever thought that work was worth destroying personal life and I still don't. Yes, we make sacrifices in the short term but - for us, until now - it's been okay because overall we've come out ahead. The minute that reverses itself is when I start reevaluating everything. Until then, each walk in the park is a gift.

Asylum

2011-09-27T18:59:00.001-04:00

Short video featuring Oceanside, Asylum skate shop and Pablo, Matthew's co-worker:

http://theberrics.com/field-ops/asylum.html

Lush henna - After

2011-09-27T18:50:00.000-04:00

Several people asked for after photos from my recent Henna session so yesterday I obliged and stood in the mirror mugging myself for a few too many minutes. It was further proof of why I'll never be a style blogger. It is so hard for me not to look crazed, goofy or cross-eyed in photos. Ignore my face and focus on the hair color, thanks! This hue brought to you by two blocks of Caca Marron and one Caca Rouge.

Manila minute

2011-09-22T03:01:00.003-04:00

What a strange introduction to the Filipino culture this week was. My time here was so structured that what I saw most were streets from the inside of buses and vans. Families of four riding one moped or eating dinner on the sidewalk, painted jeepneys, and slums in sharp contrast to our hotel swim-up bar.

Three times I drove to the GMA TV studio and stood on the sets of shows: Manny Many Prizes with Manny Pacquiao, Unang Hirit morning news, and Chika Minute entertainment gossip. I jumped over camera cables, avoided the shouting production assistants, and scooted out of the way as dancing girls in hot pink minidresses chittered past. I cringed as I watched an Idol eat balut, a day-old chick, straight from the eggshell.

I tapped my cheeks to stay awake when the jet lag kicked in, again. I sat beneath a lobby chandelier as a pianist played Greatest Love of All on the baby grand. In one hour at the pool at noon, my skin fried. They kept it open late for us last night; swimming at 3 am is much more gentle.

I passed through a market near the Araneta Coliseum. Beautiful pyramids of fruit, kaleidoscopes of color. Animal bodies hanging by hooks. Assaulted by the smells of red flesh and blood, I hurried past slimy butcher blocks. Live catfish flapping around for the last time finally lay still. Baskets of shrimp the size of my arm - not really - and chickens squawking.

A shemale swished down the aisle and all the vendors (it seemed) stopped what they were doing to jeer. I heard the hooting and catcalls and looked around confused. I caught short sight of her as she rounded a corner quickly, holding a handbag tightly, looking at no one who yelled.

Manila streets

2011-09-22T00:23:00.000-04:00

Not famous, not backpacking

2011-09-21T00:47:00.003-04:00

It's a good thing I'm not famous because apparently I don't do well with bodyguards. I was trailed by security the other day and within no time at all was plotting how I might sneak away unnoticed if it ever happened again.

Our promoters here in Manila are doing an excellent job taking care of us and they have local road managers and bodyguards available all day and night at the hotel. On day one in the Philippines we had a safety meeting wherein the Idols were lectured on common sense when traveling in a different country and one of the points made was that it's safe to walk around during the day but not so at night, at least where we're staying.

I've been so jet lagged that the last thing I want to do at night is walk around: I hit the wall around 8 pm. The other day, though, I had two hours before I needed to be anywhere in the afternoon so I thought I'd do one of my favorite things and wander for awhile. In the lobby, I encountered one of the ubiquitous bodyguards as I headed towards the door.

"Miss, you want to go outside?"

"Yes, I'm just going for a walk..."

"Wait, I get someone for you."

No, no I protested. I'm fine. It's daytime. But it didn't matter and a burly young man followed me. Again I tried to dissuade him. I'm just getting coffee down the street, I said.

"There's many bad people," he told me. "I walk a distance behind you."

I grimaced and froze for a moment, frowning. My reaction to having someone along during my alone time was so negative I came this close to saying sorry I can't do this and going back inside. Thankfully I resisted and started walking but anxiety set in and increased with each step.

Knowing that someone was walking behind me and watching every move made me UNCOMFORTABLE. I got so self conscious that I felt incompetent and began second-guessing everything: how fast I was walking, how I was holding my bag, crossing the street, stepping off the curb. I actually hesitated so severely while crossing one road that he hurried to join me, held out his palm and said, "Let's go," to indicate that it was safe.

I have been crossing streets by myself for 30 years now and in several countries just as crazy if not crazier than the Philippines. Didn't matter. When we got to the other side, he dropped behind and I felt horrible. Not only do I suck at life and can't cross a street, I have someone following me because I'm too much of a jerk to walk with him. Oh, shame. Over the next block I slowed and asked him a question. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that he was doing something for me, not against me. I tried smiling. It worked! He introduced himself, "My name is Nino."

Nino and I ended up getting coffee and makeup remover wipes. We walked in step and he held his hand out to make sure cars didn't run me over. He asked me if I like history and told me about Intramuros, the walled city near our hotel leftover from WWII. I remembered Matthew and his Filipino co-worker's requests for traditional balisong knives. Nino and I walked into the walled city and I found balisongs with wooden and horse bone handles. We parted friends and he asked me if I was happy, I'm guessing because I seemed so different than the straight bitch I started out as.

So I guess I had to learn some lessons: just because I've traveled and done lots of stupid things in less developed countries over the years does not mean I know a lot, if I expect other people in my group to listen to safety lectures I probably should too, traveling with American Idol is not the same as backpacking anonymously.

Waking up in Southeast Asia

2011-09-18T06:44:00.001-04:00

Manila, Philippines

Imperial Pub copycat

2011-09-18T02:03:00.000-04:00

Total stranger in Toronto bar last week, totally biting my style.
Photo: Jenny Lobland

48 hours in NOLA

2011-09-18T00:47:00.002-04:00

Ginger mint juleps, voodoo, sin, crosses and Irvin Mayfield. I say yes to all of that. I just wish I'd taken photos of Kermit Ruffins at Bullet's Sports Bar.

New Orleans, Louisiana

Lush henna

2011-09-08T19:36:00.000-04:00

You know what's really interesting? MY HAIR.

I cut it and dye it and generally mess with it so much that I end up spending a lot of time in awkward stages of growing it out. If I could stick with a hairstyle, I would look more polished overall and less like George Washington or a medieval page. But I bore easily so, oh well.

My objective at the moment is to let my hair be itself...mostly. I'm done with the blow drying and flat ironing regularly; my hair curls and flips and acts out and I want to let it. But I'm not yet at peace with its natural color which is becoming, increasingly, gray.

I was born a humungous 10-pound slab of a baby with a little tuft of brown hair. I grew into a blonde kid and graduated to honey brown in junior high, aided in part by an affinity for buying Sun-in at Walgreens. Over winter, I was a darker brown. I spent a year of high school with long, fuchsia locks. I let a friend hack that off at some point and since then have experimented going shorter, darker, lighter, blonder, redder, whateverer.

In London in 2008, I let a hair stylist have his way and he, disdainful of blonde, dyed it a deep brunette with a heavy bang and a solid platinum streak. It was blunt and unapologetic and I thought it looked really good but it took WORK. I kept it up for awhile and flat ironed it to conform but the style slowly and eventually morphed into something else AND IT COSTS MONEY to have hair professionally maintained every few months. I'm also not willing to worry about my hair at the first sight of rain or humidity for the rest of my life; I'm not that fancy.

Since then I've gone jet black (not good with my skin tone) and several shades of brown with a few bleaching phases thrown in for good (bad) measure. I screwed with my hair so much that it was undeniably damaged last year: totally fried, limp, and stringy. I responded by cutting it all off.

Today I'm smack in the middle of another George Washington-ish grow out but I'm determined to keep it healthy this time. Once I realized I couldn't afford to dye it at the salon, I had three choices:

1. Be proud of my premature* gray and flaunt that shit
2. Buy cheap color from the drugstore
3. Find a third option

I initially chose 2 and went back to Walgreens, much as I did in junior high, but fuck, people, it hurt. The fumes from the dye stung my eyes and was obviously toxic.

Around this time I mentioned to Kevin, my assistant tour manager, that Matthew and I have a soap habit. We like soap and will throw down for a bar if it's handcrafted and smells delicious. Kevin responded by buying me a gift certificate to Lush as an end of tour gift, so nice! I did buy soap but I also read all about Lush Henna, a natural dye. No joke, I read nearly 400 reviews of Lush henna and by the time I got to #399 I was convinced.

Almost every person who wrote about Lush henna said their hair is softer, shinier, bouncier, and looks better than it did before. There are no chemicals leaching into your head and your brain when you use Lush henna. And it's relatively cheap. Why isn't everyone dumping this crap on their head? Probably because they either haven't heard how magical it is or they are scared by the fact that you can't put regular dye on top of henna so if you screw it up, you have to deal.

They may also be put off by the procedure: it sits for 4 - 8 hours before you rinse it out. It comes in blocks that look like baker's chocolate. You boil water, grate the blocks of color, mix up the four hues (Caca Rouge, Caca Marron, Caca Brun, Caca Noir) or use just one. Make a paste with the grated henna and slop/comb it into your hair. I rub vaseline around my ears and hairline, cover everything in sight with saran wrap including my head when I'm done, and then walk around with a shower cap on for the rest of the afternoon.

I know I'm not really addressing the fact that I could just HAVE GRAY HAIR. I'm not ready. I look at my mom who has the coolest most beautiful hair, who gets compliments on her naturally silver, naturally curly crazy hair all the time. She says that when she's in a room with women her age, she's often the only one who isn't dyed to kingdom come. She looks so, so good and I admire that she doesn't hide anything and isn't afraid of her age or her hair but I'm not there yet. Perhaps we shall delve into why in a later post?

Saran Wrap, headband, blocks of Caca Marron & Caca Rouge, cheese grater, rubber gloves, tea kettle, shower cap, mixing bowl, photo of llama for visual interest

The last time I used Lush henna was on one of our recent days off. It was rainy and sucky out, the perfect time to hole up in a hotel room with a shower cap on my head, hoping no one pulled the fire alarm.

*I may be too old to call my gray "premature". Humor me.

Laughing quietly to myself

2011-09-07T00:38:00.000-04:00

About one of the Idols who was getting nostalgic for the end of tour and going around the bus telling everyone how much he loves them. When he got to me he said, "Jess, I feel like if I kiss you you're going to knee me in the crotch so I'll just give you a hug." And maybe I'm wrong but I feel like there was love implicit in his understanding me so well.

Natural Ass vs. Natural Gas

2011-09-05T23:40:00.004-04:00

I watched the documentary Gasland this Spring and it scared the spit out of me. I didn't know anything about natural gas drilling and the process of hydraulic fracturing, or fracking, and was struck by how easily I would have assumed it was a good source of energy just because it wasn't oil. Maybe it's the word "natural". It makes it sound so peaceful. It's not. It's f'ing frightening. Go get a glass of water in the middle of the night and your tap bursts into flames, live with constant headaches and nausea, the health of your body and your land and your water and your pets in decline, slowly poisoned, FRIGHTENING. It's happening all over the U.S.

I recently met a woman named Jaime who works at the arena we played in Long Island. She came up to me to ask me if I'm Jess and then introduced herself. She's dating Ronnie, who gave me my first touring job, and she knows his friend Ariel, who was also my friend in New York. I emailed Ronnie and Ariel, giddy with excitement as it's been two years that I've been in contact with either and haven't seen Ariel in six.

Ariel and Jaime gave me the website of a project he founded this year, Pedal Power NYC, and it is hilariously creative and inspired. Pedal Power NYC put on a concert in Union Square powered by humans riding bicycles. Natural Ass, not Natural Gas. Brilliant. I cannot wait to get my ass on one of those bike generators and help put on a show.

“Pedal Power is an action that demonstrates the creative energy within our community. It demonstrates our ability to make our own energy choices, and it demonstrates the will of a city that is infinitely more powerful than the kilowatt hours it consumes. We will not solve our energy and water challenges on bikes alone, but through purposeful actions in this spirit, we will be the generators of our clean water future. Pedal On!”

The Natural Ass Sessions - NYC from Pedal Power NYC on Vimeo.

Outdoor community movie theater

2011-09-02T19:23:00.001-04:00

Once I see something like this, I know I'm going to like a place.

Providence, RI

Never Never

2011-09-02T18:46:00.001-04:00

Kickstarter is one the newest coolest things I've heard about. I know about it thanks to Megan and have contributed only to her project so far but how badass it to see her, in her words, CRUSH HER GOAL and get to finish her album with the support of hundreds of people? Veeeeeeery. DIY, just do it. Here's a video that she just made.

Desiderata

2011-09-02T18:26:00.001-04:00

I drank an americano at Bard Coffee in Portland, Maine and read the local weekly. An article about Market Street Eats made my mouth water so I looked up the address and walked a few blocks to buy a wrap at the sandwich shop, an avocado melt. Everything the article said about the food was true, so dang good I went back for breakfast.

When I stepped in the second time, the guy who took my order the day before said, "Hey Jessica..." all casual, like we've been homies forever when our entire relationship actually consisted of him writing my name on the food ticket yesterday.

"Hey," I said and complimented his memory, "Nice one..."

While I waited for my breakfast sandwich, I wandered around and looked at the walls, at the license plates, bumper stickers (Jesus would signal, Who died and made you Elvis?), artwork, and photographs and then I saw Desiderata.

As has so much lately, the timing felt auspicious. Not everything in the poem spoke to me specifically and I don't mean to sound as if I'm in some sort of spiritual crisis but this has been a summer of challenges, conflicts, and confrontations. I've also cackled and chuckled but the laughs don't loom as large. It's been exhausting at times, exhilarating at others. I've questioned a lot what goes on around me, what goes on inside me, and how I handle the both.

Overall, I'm proud. I still have to order myself everyday to get my nose out of the paperwork and keep laughing, that it's all part of a bigger picture and all learning. I don't know what part of that learning curve I'm on but I'm riding the hell out of it.

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender,
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even to the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons;
they are vexatious to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain or bitter,
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs,
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals,
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love,
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life,
keep peace in your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

Waking up in Portland, ME

2011-08-28T11:22:00.000-04:00

Waking up in Providence, RI

2011-08-26T23:11:00.001-04:00

42 pages of shoes

2011-08-26T22:23:00.000-04:00

It doesn't look like hurricane weather from my window in Providence, Rhode Island but I've seen the photos taken from the international space station. ONE THOUSAND MILES OF PURE STORM. It's practically sexy.

We have postponed a show and changed route for the hurricane. Depending on what happens tomorrow - if Irene slows down or speeds up - we may revise our plans of when, exactly, we leave Providence for Portland. All I know is I got galoshes yesterday in Bridgeport. And even though I played it cool last night, I was COMPELLED to spend the two hour overnight bus ride browsing shoes on 6pm.com. Now, they were deeply discounted - I looked at nothing less than 60% off - but I got through 42 pages of shoes. 42 pages of shoes. On some deep, dark, level, I was stressed and I needed to be soothed by 42 pages of shoes.

It worked.

Graft

2011-08-25T12:03:00.000-04:00

National Gallery of Art Sculpture Garden, Washington DC
Graft by Roxy Paine
Stainless Steel
Photo: Matthew Cooper

Flowers taped to utility post

2011-08-24T10:56:00.000-04:00

Flowers taped to utility post? Sure, why not.

Long Beach, Long Island

Laughing quietly to myself

2011-08-23T22:08:00.000-04:00

About how Renee asked if living in the land of sunshine makes one passive aggressive or aggressive aggressive. Well, I said, I flicked off a palm tree at the botanical gardens in DC the other day so I'll let you be the judge of that.

Hiding behind stuff in DC

2011-08-21T21:50:00.001-04:00

We chose beer and statues.

National Archives

2011-08-21T19:16:00.000-04:00

Research librarian standing in front of National Archives, Washington DC.

Happiness.

Hearts

2011-08-16T14:09:00.001-04:00

Last night I went to bed sick (body) and tired (mind). I've been worrying about things I can't control and I was caught up in an ugly mix of gloomy sadness and hot anger. Swinging wildly between wanting to escape (read historical novels in bed and eat jellybeans until my stomach aches) and wanting to take a motherfucker out, my temper has been shorter, my patience thinner, and my nose is running.

Reading blogs today snapped me out of it; sometimes other people's words are just what I need. While I've shied away from much of the online social media world and have stuck just to blogging, I'm reminded this morning of why I keep writing and reading blogs even if I don't tweet, have pinterests, and quit Facebook.

You don't always know what's well received or not when blogging. Silences may hang after posts. Did it make sense to anyone? It doesn't necessary matter but knowing when you connect with someone is gratifying. My friends and family often comment away from the blog and give me their reactions privately. I'm not a huge commenter myself so I'm definitely guilty of not telling people what I think and, actually, really want to do more of that.

I woke up early this morning and decided to try harder. I pulled the curtain open and opened the laptop. Among all the sites I checked were Megan's tumblr and Already Pretty. God, ladies. Thank you! Megan's posts on awareness and peace and Sal's thoughts on assuming positive intent were so damn timely, it nearly broke my heart.

"Hearts and rainbows!" as Rinden and I say sarcastically. Well, hearts. I'm still not really into rainbows.

Jersey Shore

2011-08-13T11:03:00.003-04:00

Also seen in Atlantic City: a lot of tribal tattoos, tans, manbellies, boardshorts, baseball hats, bumping, grinding, drinking, the limbo. And this shirt: Cool Story Babe. Now go make me a sandwich. I'm sure there are redeeming qualities to this place. Right?

Day off in Ohio

2011-08-09T23:56:00.005-04:00

I drove south on I-71 from Columbus to Cincinnati content. Snarling Nine Inch Nails loud with the radio, it could have been 1992. The familiarity, even the HELL IS REAL billboard, made me smile. I picked up Neill and he held onto my right hand as I drove with my left. We drove to our parents house and I slept in the bedroom I grew up in. The books on the shelves reminded me of college and the years just after: women's studies, writing. A thunderstorm. The ceiling fan clicking over my head. The white curtains we hung in seventh grade. I woke up early and drove back north to work.

Scene in NYC

2011-08-08T03:10:00.000-04:00

Halle sent me this. I don't know what or where it is and I can't figure out what she's got in her hand.

Dolly

2011-08-01T23:20:00.003-04:00

I'd like to kick off August with this poster I saw in Nashville a few days ago.

DRES13

2011-07-29T00:18:00.010-04:00

I didn't know what this sticker meant but I took a photo as I was walking down North Mills Avenue in Orlando. I just did some research and have officially found a new street artist. André Greppi, or DRES13, is an ad agency art director, freelance graphic artist and illustrator and graffiti artist, or what I'd like to call a sidewalk beautician, based in Orlando.

This is a sweet thing

2011-07-27T22:00:00.000-04:00

Matthew handed me a bunch of roses in the parking lot of the Atlanta venue last night when he, Doug and Jacquie arrived. I gave several away to people as I passed them in the hallway, one of whom was an older gentleman security guard. At the very end of the night as we were sitting on the curb drinking champagne (Thanks Jacquie), we saw the security guard carry the rose out in a glass and give it to a woman waiting in a car.

Megan Joy EP

2011-07-27T17:29:00.004-04:00

I love this girl. And not just because she's the kind of girl who will stick a banana down her pants for no reason.

Kickstarter!

Long distance

2011-07-23T22:55:00.009-04:00

Tonight I'm grateful for the friends I talk to rarely. I have a handful of people I've connected to in the past, sometimes fiercely so, who I speak to once or twice a year. I'm struck by the strength of what keeps us important to each other - humor, understanding, shared experiences. We may now be in different places but I'm so often physically far from those I'm close to emotionally that it feels normal to me. I've moved so much that I wonder if I'll ever live somewhere and not hear a voice in my ear that whispers, "You're just visiting....what's next?"

Not long ago Matthew commented that it sucks that I have so many friends but so few live nearby. My first reaction was defensive.

"I don't think it sucks. I'm okay."

It's been YEARS that I've had a stable number of friends close to me. I've collected great loves and held on to them for dear life but they're scattered in all directions because that's what I've done myself.

Sometimes it's the milestones that make us more separate - marriages, babies - and sometimes the same things bring us back together. Work schedules, money to travel, busy-ness: they all play a part. I can call but am picky with the phone to the point of phobia. I do best with the phone when I make official "dates" and plan my day around that hour or two. With a few people I email and to others I write letters. In general, I prefer to see people in person.

Working in touring both helps and hurts. I spend the summer making my way around the country to parts I might not get to otherwise and sometimes see friends on days off. But touring is also massively time-consuming and I balance two largely detached lives: work life and personal life. This is not a complaint, it just is. In managing people at work, I try to stick to the principles from the rest of my life. The hardest things to say are best said in person and not by email or text, accept responsibility when I screw up or don't know something, learn from those around me, stay calm and decisive in uncertainty or crisis. Be fair. Know when to be flexible. Care.

I recently took a call from a number I didn't recognize. I was in Texas and when I realized it was Taryn's friend Leeann, I stepped outside to the loading dock. I talked to Leeann for awhile and told her that I was likely going to miss Taryn's Colorado wedding and cabin weekend because I'd be in the Philippines with the Idols. I asked her how she knew Taryn and told her that we ran around Ecuador together. After we hung up I texted Taryn and said that I want to hang out with Leeann when she's in Southern California for the winter. Taryn and I decided to talk before she gets married in September. It'll be the first time we get on the phone since the weekend she flew to Kentucky for my wedding, walked into my house and plunked down on the floor like she'd been there a hundred times before.

I had a beer with Jon on a day off in Seattle and he asked me questions that only someone who knew me ten years ago would know to ask. I got an email from Kelly right before I left LA for Salt Lake City that made me laugh out loud, a true LOL. She still calls me "Spano" in honor of the day at work in New York that we decided to call each other after Saved By The Bell characters: Jessi Spano and Kelly Kapowski.

There are others who I think about all the time, everyday, but haven't talked to in too long: Charlie, the Eisens, the Moodys. We're in different time zones and hemispheres and I wonder how they are and what they're doing.

Colocasia Gigantea

2011-07-23T22:15:00.003-04:00

Orlando leaves, are you for real?

Orlando sculpture garden

2011-07-23T21:20:00.009-04:00

I think public sculptures are a fantastic place to leave your boots.

Frank Gady, Langford Suite #1
Princeton St.
Orlando, FL

Florida humor

2011-07-23T21:04:00.001-04:00

Nine out of 47

2011-07-19T00:15:00.003-04:00

Nine shows in and I'm already at that point in the summer where mere mention of an Idol's name or glance in their direction and I'm guaranteed to have one of the songs from their set stuck in my head for the next 45 minutes. It's pretty rad.

laughing quietly to myself

2011-07-18T23:48:00.004-04:00

About how I really used to hate emoticons but now I think it's funny to send the devil face in text messages. If someone texts me to ask for permission to do something and I say no, I add the devil face to my response. I don't know yet if anyone else thinks it's funny or if I just seem like an asshole.

For added visibility carry orange flag

2011-07-18T23:02:00.008-04:00

I'm sure that any Utahn who found this maybe funny a long time ago is over it but I'm not. I STILL CAN'T BELIEVE SALT LAKE CITY PROVIDES ORANGE FLAGS TO WAVE AROUND WHILE YOU CROSS THE STREET.

Frippery

2011-07-18T22:38:00.002-04:00

What I'm going to take from reading The 19th Wife, besides fuel for my ongoing fascination with Mormonism, is the word frippery.

Frippery:

1. finery in dress, especially when showy, gaudy, or the like.
2. empty display; ostentation.
3. gewgaws; trifles.

Thank you, David Ebershoff.

SWAY'D

2011-07-10T11:21:00.008-04:00

I didn't know what it was as I approached it on the downtown Salt Lake City street but have since learned: a public art installation called SWAY'D created by Daniel Lyman and meant to be reminiscent of a field of grass or trees in the wind. It is also, of course, open to the interpretation of each person who enters the landscape and may make you play, wander, sit and stare, or just think. I sat down on the rocks and thought of the illustration from a children's book I read long ago, of baby Moses floating down the river in a basket. Which I guess makes Neil (below) the Pharaoh's daughter.

Salt Lake City water tower

2011-07-09T09:13:00.002-04:00

Salt Lake City graffiti

2011-07-06T23:45:00.001-04:00

Salt Lake City is beautiful. I've never had views of the Wasatch and Oquirrh mountain ranges like I have this week; every time we're driving on the highway between hotel and arena, I stare at the snow caps. Breathtaking. And yet almost all of my photos are of the street, partially because that's what I do and also because SLC has always appeared so pristine to me, I was convinced there's no grit or grime here. And now I have evidence that that's not the case.

Professional competence

2011-07-06T10:20:00.003-04:00

I read the following in Adam Gopnik's New Yorker piece, Life Studies, and it rang true:

Whatever professional competence we feel in adult life is less the sum of accomplishment than the absence of impossibility: it's really our relief at no longer having to do things we were never any good at doing in the first place -- relief at never again having to dissect a frog or memorize the periodic table.

He had me at periodic table.

I know that my adult achievements are real but if I'd been forced to be a math teacher I would have spent my life convinced I'm a big dummy. Also, I read this article while laying in bed eating Swedish Fish, something I wouldn't have been allowed to do as a child. Sweet, sweet adult freedom.

Who I wake up to

2011-06-30T10:56:00.004-04:00

Yeah, I married that.

I've just escaped from the London dungeon

2011-06-25T00:36:00.005-04:00

I'm not a big skull-wearer. I think the last time I sported a skull was a tank top in 2006. In the 90s, I had some Day of the Dead jewelry from Mexico. Cathy just sent me a t-shirt, though, a hand-me-down from her friend Nicole's punk days, and it's my new favorite thing in the world to wear. Cathy said she thought maybe I wasn't skating because I don't have the RIGHT SHIRT.

I wore it today, not to skate but for a meeting. Skulls + business meeting = awesome. Cathy asked me to take a photo but I didn't do so until I got back to the hotel at the end of the day. I did text her earlier, "I look fucking formidable, like I will crush you with my bare hands if you don't obey. So that's always good."

When our production manager introduced me to the new lighting director he said, "This is Jess, our tour manager. She's got a mean right hook." I questioned that because I'm pretty sure he's never seen my right hook; I'm strong and can land a punch but hate hate HATE physical fighting. Graham, our production manager, played it off. "Maybe it was a dance move, at an end of tour party." It's possible.

This is the photo I sent Cathy.

The thing that struck me throughout the day was how comfortable I was, mentally and physically. I wear all kinds of clothes: jeans, long skirts, pencil skirts, boots, sneakers, sometimes heels. But I've realized over time that two-and-a-half inches is my limit on heels because a) I am a giant already and b) I can't move around well in shoes higher than that.

My rule of thumb is if I'm chased by a killer, will I be able to run away? If my shoes cripple me, I won't wear them because I won't give the killer that advantage. Whereas in my new "I've just escaped from the London dungeon" shirt, I can jump on my board (theoretically) and skate away.

Letters to Elinor

2011-06-24T09:12:00.004-04:00

I met Elinor when I was 11 years old. I'd just flown across the Atlantic Ocean and was uncertain in the strange land I entered. ENGLAND. I wore my banana yellow stretch pants on the plane but not my favorite New York sweatshirt because of the American flag on the back; we were afraid that I'd become a target for Gaddafi, were he lurking about Heathrow that day in 1986.

I was already homesick on the flight with my leader, Marti, and the other three kids from the American delegation to our CISV camp. By the time I was shown my squeaky metal bed in the school dormitory where I'd live for the next four weeks, tears were rolling down my face. Marti had asked our parents to write us a letter that we could open right away. I read the letter and the knot in my stomach twisted but I felt a little, tiny bit better.

There was so much to absorb. I was surrounded by 11-year-olds from Brazil, Iceland, Korea, Norway, Luxembourg, Germany, Sierra Leone, and England. There were a couple of 16-year-old "junior counselors" from Philadelphia and Sweden and a handful of staff members, my favorite of whom was an Englishman with curly red hair who was eventually nicknamed Strange Tony. It didn't take long to meet Elinor, one of the two English girls, who I remember in a tight bun, with a crooked smile and toes pointed out like a ballet dancer.

We were rapidly thrown into camp life and new routines. We had roommates and sang songs around a flagpole twice a day and at meals. Each country had a national night and presented their culture with dancing, food, and small gifts to take home. On American night, I got out my petticoat and grass skirt and demonstrated square dancing and Hawaiian dancing, NOT AT THE SAME TIME. Though if we had mixed those two dances together it would have indicated how hard it was to define American culture and how we were kind of making it up. Jen, the junior counselor from Philadelphia, wore Mickey Ears, a Mickey Mouse t-shirt, and a red skirt as her national costume. She was probably more honest than us.

I wasn't homesick anymore. We took day trips to castles, the North Sea, and to an amusement park where I went on my first rollercoaster, something I'd been afraid to do before. I created a dance routine to Madonna's Material Girl with the other American girl and we performed at the camp's talent show AND a local bar. We'd been split off into pairs to spend the weekend with families in Newcastle and my host family took us to their neighborhood squash club's bar. The only time I was at a bar in Ohio was when my mom's soccer team went for food after games and us kids were allowed to run around. This time I was showing off my MOVES under spinning multicolored lights and a parquet floor.

On the last night before we flew home, we all pulled our mattresses into the gymnasium and had a slumber party. We were crying and beside ourselves, beyond consolation. Of the almost 40 kids at our camp, Elinor was one of those I became closest to. I learned about the village she grew up in, Otley, in North Yorkshire. I'd spent a month in her country and now liked English sweets - Polo mints and Cadbury Flake. I drank tea with every meal. I laughed a lot in general and with her in particular. She was smart and thoughtful, never a mean girl.

For years afterwards, I wrote letters to the other campers. In time, my connection to some of them faded but Elinor and I were faithful writers. Into our teens we wrote regularly and joked that a letter of less than ten pages long showed a problem in our friendship, something like a lack of commitment. Fifteen pages, maybe even twenty, was more like it.

I saved my babysitting money and visited Elinor in England the summer before my senior year of high school. When I was 24 I saw her in England again and met Yohan, her husband. Around our mid-twenties, however, our friendship got lost in the shuffle. For a number of years we didn't check in, much less write long, meandering epistles beginning "Dearest Elinor" and "Dearest Jess". At some point I searched for her online and found her email. And then Facebook happened.

Right around my wedding last year and just before I left for tour, I got a gift from her: a journal, a silver ring and a letter. On a day off in Toronto, I sat in a coffeeshop and wrote back. It felt good to write a letter. With a pen! Like in the olden days! It was a rusty process and it took awhile to get my thoughts flowing but I did it. And the feeling of weighing words before putting them to paper, of the pen in hand, and even of the metal flap of the mailbox snapping shut is rewarding. Almost as thrilling as seeing a letter that someone has taken the time to write to me.

I got a letter from Elinor last week. She sent it to my parents' house, she knows how often I move. She included photos of her toddler, threw in a sly reference to her maternity leave for baby 2, and made a casual remark to the fact that we've been writing letters to each other for TWENTY FIVE YEARS. And I don't care how far technology takes us in the next twenty five, when email may seem obsolete and archaic, I hope I'm still writing letters. I appreciate their weight.

X-ray

2011-06-20T18:26:00.000-04:00

Neil calls this his Pirates of the Caribbean audition.

It's officially my new favorite x-ray. And yes, I did have an old favorite.

Top Gun, 25 years later

2011-06-16T08:09:00.000-04:00

I knew that Top Gun was filmed in Oceanside and imagined riding my moped down the same stretch where Tom Cruise sped on his motorcycle. I heard that the bungalow where Kelly McGillis lived in the film was still around but I didn't know where, nor that I'd walked past it 25 times. Pacific Street looks different than in 1986 and the house itself is pretty haggard but it's hanging in there.

The newspaper said that it sits on land slated for development and that they're hoping to incorporate it into the plan. Please let it become a coffeehouse, cozy with sturdy wooden tables and a wine list. Please don't let it become a gift shop that sells puka shell necklaces and flip flops. That's all I ask for this house and its second chance.

Top Gun made an impression on me when I re-watched it three years ago. It wasn't necessarily a GOOD impression but it stuck. I was crashing with Matt Sperling in LA and we had Top Gun night. I have no real idea why but we bought aviators and cut off our jeans in honor of the beach volleyball scene. We watched the movie and laughed and laughed some more. The homoerotic undertones we were oblivious to in elementary school, the overall sweatiness, the aggressive gum chewing.

A week later I was in Cincinnati visiting my family and met Matthew by accident. My cousin Mary Beth invited me to a pub quiz because she wanted to set Matthew up with her friend from school. I went too, a tag-along, because I happened to be in town and we named our quiz team Top Gun. Maybe that's why I continue to cling to the movie, because it was a part of the night that I met my husband. Maybe Top Gun bound us together that first evening in a way my reserved hard-to-get exterior didn't do on its own.

Fast forward three years to now. We have just made our first move together, to the town where Tom Cruise and Kelly McGillis lounged on wicker furniture that lazy late-80s Sunday, drinking wine and not sleeping together. In Quentin Tarantino's take on the film, the whole subplot of Top Gun is whether to be gay or not-gay? Give in to the gay or stay straight? After the movie date that culminates in the characters' not sleeping together, Quentin posits that Kelly goes butch for a scene (in the elevator, wearing a bomber jacket, hair pulled back in a baseball hat) to attract Tom to her and away from Val Kilmer. Quentin Tarantino's argument is, in my opinion, VERY CONVINCING.

Top Gun came out 25 years ago and Oceanside celebrated over Memorial Day weekend. It was the last weekend I was home and I knew there were events but forgot because when I was making dinner and a fighter jet flew over my house, I almost shit the kitchen floor. I was slicing zucchini when I heard the noise, the noise that you hear right before fuselage busts through your roof and you are killed on impact. I froze with the knife in hand, my head vibrating. I stared at the front door, fully expecting to see the nose of a fiery jet. When that didn't happen, I snapped out of paralysis and craned my neck at the window.

"It's for Top Gun," Matthew said, figuring it out before me.

"Oh my God," I said.

My hands felt shaky and my heart was clanging like a drum but I'm glad I didn't hit the floor and start crawling to the door, screaming, like my boss during the Seattle earthquake. THAT would have been embarrassing.

Skate Witches

2011-06-14T23:06:00.004-04:00

I had just walked in the lobby with my luggage when I met the sales manager of the hotel where I'm staying all month. We were talking and I turned to the side; she saw the skateboard (wheels barely scuffed) strapped to the bag on my back.

"Well look at you!" She said, "Aren't you just the cutest thing!"

I gave her and the catering manager a possibly (DEFINITELY) over-long explanation of why I am carrying around a skateboard and how I am under orders (Happy orders, Matthew! Love you!) to learn to skate this summer.

"So if you see me out in the parking lot..." I said, pausing.

"Laying on the ground?" the catering manager offered.

Um, no! I was just going to say, "You'll know why," but thanks for assuming I will be eating shit, lady. She actually seemed very nice and not snarky so I think that was unintentional bitchiness on her part. In fact, I'm almost certain she was trying to work out a preemptive first aid plan.

That was two weeks ago.

For the last two weeks I have been talking about skating. I have been asked to bring the board to rehearsals and conveniently forgotten every morning. I have several crew members willing to give me pointers. I keep coming up with excuses: I'm wearing motorcycle boots, I just met the Idols and don't want breaking my bones in front of them to be a first impression, I have a lot of work to do (true but whatever).

In short, I have a long way to go before I'm a SKATE WITCH:

Fandom

2011-06-13T11:47:00.003-04:00

Someone at Kings Highway and 26th Street really cares.
Photo credit: Cathy Hickey

Felix back on the west coast

2011-06-12T20:26:00.003-04:00

So Felix was in San Francisco last week and caught a Reds vs. Giants game. Soon he's on his way to Italy and Greece. Bastard.

I am still laughing quietly

2011-06-05T20:10:00.002-04:00

About the "Georgia arrest" story that Bova told me weeks ago. And I still think that Ryan Reynolds should play Bova when the movie version comes out. Because it needs to come out.

Brue Killers

2011-06-02T01:34:00.010-04:00

A few weeks ago, Matthew bought me a skateboard, my first skateboard.

Look closely and you'll see the orange bottle opener on the bottom. Oh my god, drinking and skating. What a terrible idea! But try as I might to imagine cracking a non-alcoholic beverage with the opener, I keep seeing beer.

Matthew grew up skating and has picked it up again more now that we live in Oceanside where skate videos he watched as a kid were filmed. Not that we knew that before we moved, given that we didn't know ANYTHING. Everyone - with the exception of about five people, four now that I'm taking it up - skates here. The thok-thok of wheels on sidewalk cracks is a constant background noise. They skate alone, in pairs, in groups. I see people my age (sort of...I tend to think I'm younger than I really am) taking over sleepy Carlsbad streets, a roaming pack down the middle of the lane. 4-year-olds in helmets and knee pads scoot up the sidewalk on their first decks. They hold their arms out for balance and jump off into the grass when they get spooked.

I look at those pre-kindergarten kids and think, "Those are my people." I, too, hold out my arms and want to jump into the grass.

Matthew had mentioned several times that I should learn to skate. I'd murmur my assent and do nothing to make it happen. When he took matters into his own hands, the game slash pressure was on. The board is gorgeous and made for cruising - wide and with big wheels. I couldn't do a trick on it if I wanted to, which I do not. Since I find the slightest incline or shift in pavement height treacherous, all I want to do is get from A to B and not look like a total asshole.

Matthew gave me tips in a school parking lot one night after a cop kicked us out of the grocery store parking lot. His terse "No skateboarding here" spurred a surge of indignity on my part, the kind that most of my peers first experienced in 1991, not 2011. I wonder if I'm going to start saying things like "Do you smell bacon?" when I see police.

That night Matthew saw a plastic fork in my travel path and said something like, "Forks are your enemy!" which meant to get out of the fork's way. Since I don't yet have control per se, I rolled straight into and over it and crushed that fork like a gnat. Guess those bigger wheels are already coming in handy.

The only other time I paid attention to skating was one day back in the 80s when I borrowed a neighbor's board and spent the afternoon whizzing straight down the hill we lived on. There was the summer in 10th grade that I took photos of skaters on a half pipe they built in one of their backyards but I was more of an embarrassing friend-of-the-girlfriend and don't think that really counts.

The other part of Matthew's plan is that I get comfortable skating on tour this summer. He facilitated this by finding a bag made specifically for skateboards, the Nike SB Shuttle bag. Dang it! This bag may actually end up being my biggest incentive of all. I can't CARRY A BAG EVERY SINGLE DAY MADE JUST FOR SKATEBOARDS and not know how to skate. If I don't scuff those wheels up, I'll be shamed.

The manager part of my brain is telling me that when I wipe out, it won't be covered by worker's comp. The other part is fine buying wrist guards, knowing I wouldn't ever skate backstage where there are lots of cable (talk about going from a bad to a worse idea). I'll skate on days off, away from venues, on my own time. I'll need to since apparently I'm being tested when I get home.

HEALTH

2011-05-29T14:21:00.005-04:00

HEALTH opening for Crystal Castles @ FLUXX, San Diego
Photo credit: Matthew Cooper iPhone

In my skin

2011-05-29T13:42:00.010-04:00

Sometimes I think I want to blog about what I'm wearing and where I found it on clearance and what great shoes are cute and comfortable. I talk about these things to friends in real life. Then I imagine all the photos that people post of themselves when they blog about their style and I know that 90% of my shots would come out like this.

Let me explain what is going on with my face; because I am cocking finger pistols, I am also saying, "Chk-chk." And I can't stop even though Matthew pointed out that it isn't entirely necessary to SAY chk-chk when pretending that my hands are guns. Doesn't matter. Incidentally, this expression is very similar to my "smile" at the dentist's receptionist the other day when half my face was numb.

I took these photos outside of a deli in LA where we ate before heading down to the Idol TV finale. I wanted to show Robin and Kelly that I was wearing the awesome t-shirt they bought for me at the Sicilian Festival in San Diego and had given me the night before.

You can't really see the shirt but there is a tree and the tree is a person and their arms are trunks. It reminded them of the Berlin tree I have tattooed on my arm. In this photo I believe I think I'm sneaking up on someone.

I have a hard time taking myself seriously in photos and am generally an inelegant subject. I can be going about my day perfectly gracefully but as soon as the camera is on me, I'm constipated. I don't know exactly what this means, besides the fact that I'm turning into my mother. Am I not as comfortable in my skin as I think I am? Hm. Something to think about.