Toledo, OH

Day off in Ohio

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.

homeless art and giant pickles

A few hours after I wrote about the so-called ghetto last week, I was going through old photos and found something. It is a photo of a diorama I made in sixth or seventh grade art class and I clearly spent some time constructing the simple three dimensional scene out of pieces of poster board and colored pencils. When I saw the photo the other day, though, I gaped because it is a homeless scene. I MADE A HOMELESS DIORAMA? I do not remember this but I'm not surprised. This diorama illustrates that my house may have been in Hyde Park but my school was in the hood.



The D and D Deli was a store across the street from my elementary school, Sands Montessori. Sometimes, if I wasn't taking the bus home and my mom was picking me up, I was allowed to buy a snack at the D and D Deli, Lemonheads or Fritos or some such thing. I never did buy a giant pickle in a plastic pouch, bobbing in its own green-tinted juices, though I saw a lot cross the deli's threshold. Those pickles totally freaked me out.

3/3 of a family portrait

We have these half-assed training ideas for the dog, things we'd like her to be able to do like play dead on command and fetch beers out of the fridge. Unfortunately we never actually try to teach her to do these tricks, we just talk about how cool it would be if she could.

Once we tried to get her to jump through an empty picture frame a few inches off the floor and I have approximately 70 photos documenting that particular failure. No matter how many treats we held on the other side, she would only run around the side or bark frustratedly. Fine, I thought, she's not a jumper. I was therefore surprised yesterday when Matthew climbed into a tree in the park, told Patsy to jump up and she did. What the hell, dog? Why have you been hiding your awesome?

2/3 of a family portrait, in a tree



The backdrop of this photo reminds me of senior portraits, something I still think about because my experience back in 1993 was not a good one. 1993 was a grumpy year for me. I spent a lot of time feeling outraged and enraged and the day I went for my portraits, I absolutely refused to accommodate the photographer. When I got the proofs back, I became even more distraught. I had put my foot down on all backdrops and props so each shot was me looking into the camera with nothing to distract from my lukewarm expression and face full of acne. I felt like a gargoyle.

I'm sure my mom tried to console me, "They'll be retouched in the yearbook!" and "We'll get more Retin-A!" but I'm also sure it didn't help. Luckily we were allowed one retake and our exchange student, Joanna, who had just come over from England put make up on my face, brushed my hair, and suited me up in one of her leotard tops. The result was passable.

A few weeks ago, I was sitting near the beach making phone calls and set my camera on the soft focus setting that I never use. I took some shots that were laughably idyllic and then a few hand-held photos I thought might be senior portrait-worthy. Do I need more therapy? Maybe.

1/3 of a family portrait, not as grumpy as 1993

Ominous design

I've been writing about Elise a lot lately. I hadn't hung hardcore with Elise before moving here but we knew each other in Cincinnati and I could tell she was awesome. Seriously, though, drive in a car with someone for about twenty times longer than you want to be in a car and get deliriously tired and low blood sugary and slaphappy and wake up grumpy and make up stupid jokes that really should never be repeated because they wouldn't be funny in any other context and you KNOW you're cool with someone.

Also, part of our road trip was a barter. We took Elise out here so she could visit a potential grad school and in exchange she gave us one of her original paintings, a self-portrait that we chose. We hung the painting over our couch so there's a big Elise on our wall. It's wonderfully creepy. I'm getting used to seeing her all the time but in those first few days sometimes I would talk to the painting, "Oh, hi Elise," and "Quit looking at me, Elise." Maybe one day I'll be lonely and I'll look up and think, "Naw, it's cool. Elise is here."



The painting itself is eerie. She is painted laying on the floor and I'm just not sure if painting Elise is okay. She looks like she might be tripping, over her own feet or on acid. But I was instantly drawn to it and it fits perfectly because we've inadvertently started collecting creepy art. Not on purpose, apparently that's just what we like. Andrew Morison thoughtfully sent us a housewarming present and it arrived today, an original print from a guy named Jeral Tidwell who is part of Crackhead Press in Louisville, KY. We took it to a framer and on the receipt, he called it Wicked Bunny.



This will actually be the second wicked bunny print in the house, the first being a silk screen from a set of 20 that Evan made for the Rabbit Hole club's opening in Cincinnati. I loved this on sight and it's been hanging over my dresser ever since.



I tried hanging Evan's bunny in the living room for a day but it was too much paired with Elise. It felt aggressive, as if the walls were trying to tell me something I didn't want to hear, like the rug is fluffy and the sunlight is streaming in the windows but the apple cider in the fridge is cyanide. Then I put the Evan bunny back over the dresser, hung some inoffensive figure drawings that I bought at an estate sale in Oxford, OH and peace and balance was restored. Why has HGTV not hired me yet? I totally have a niche.

Applejack

Before leaving town I stopped by Dennis' house to meet his pet squirrel, Applejack.



Dennis' friend found Applejack when he was a baby and injured, bleeding from his ear, and brought him home. Dennis built a habitat for him in his house, large enough that he can get inside and play with him, and is currently planning an addition so that he has even more room.



They're pretty cute together.

Boo-hoo

People have been asking me lately how I feel about this move: what I'm going to miss, what I'm looking forward to, and what I've learned in these last two years at home. I haven't answered any of the questions quickly or in full and especially feel, with regards to what I've learned, that it's going to take some distance to realize everything. The most immediate answer, however, to what I'll miss is family especially - sob! - my brother.

I picked Neill up from his house last night and one of his caregivers, Mike, was standing at the door when I came in. He took a photo of us with his camera.



We went to my favorite Mexican restaurant where Neill politely removed his seizure helmet, his gloves, and promptly inhaled an entire basket of tortilla chips. He was cracking me up by how he was parroting me to the server. When I asked for extra napkins and said thanks, Neill followed up quickly, "FANKS!" When I asked for water, Neill repeated, "WATER!" The server was cool and referred to Neill a few times as sir.

Also, a large group of servers gathered on the other side of our booth to have a heated discussion in rapid Spanish involving the word peleando. Because my Spanish is rusty, I couldn't figure out if they were talking about someone getting the shit beaten out of them or scoring a goal. I still don't know. Regardless, Neill stared at them with a huge smile on his face, a chip in his hand frozen halfway to his mouth, and looked like he was totally on the verge of laughing at them.

In the car I told Neill that I'm moving and that I'm not going to see him for awhile. I told him that it made me sad and he looked straight at me and said, "Boo-hoo." What a punk.

When we got back to his house, I hung out for a bit and dragged out the goodbyes. At one point, I kissed Neill on his cheek and he let me until suddenly he pulled away and we both started laughing. Mike caught that on camera too.



I stalled some more, played with his plastic alligator and snake and admired the toy police truck he got for Christmas. When I was driving home, Mike sent me one last photo, of Neill in his chair, photo of us in his hand. Mike said he keeps this photo on the table next to his chair at all times. I'll miss you, buddy.

She calls this look Farmer Chic

Renee Harris
Vandalia and Hamilton Ave
Cincinnati, OH

Things I didn't write in May

There were many things I didn't write about during our wedding in May, mainly because I was too busy DOING. I was throwing a huge party, spending time with out-of-town guests, planning the summer's American Idol tour, and preparing to leave town for four months. No wonder I was sobbing in bed the night before I left home, ten days after the wedding. But hey, it all worked out! No Idols or brides were killed so that's cool.

Even though I haven't written much about it, I've since thought about it a lot because other people bring it up. And I love that; I love that it was the kind of party that seven months later is still inspiring stories. I'm proud to have had "the gayest straight wedding" some people have ever seen, that so many more people in my life now know each other, and that I've been told we should have a wedding reunion in May 2011.

The thing is, though, that no matter how much you don't want to make a big deal out of weddings, if you have a big wedding it ends up being a big deal. Bringing 250 people together like we did to eat and drink and dance takes time and money. One way we tried to keep it feeling like us was to hire people we knew and support businesses that were local and/or small and independent.

I might have gone too far sometimes - my cousins Lauren and Mary Beth and friend Sunny probably would have appreciated more direction than "wear whatever you want, I really don't care" for walking down the aisle - but in the end they all looked comfortable and lovely, just not matching.



I hope that everyone felt appreciated for everything they did for us and with us and that if there was any stress it evaporated in the alcohol haze.



Cheryl Eschenbach, a family friend of the Coopers who accompanied Matthew at his many singing recitals growing up, played the piano before the ceremony. Our friend Kevin Frey handled the music during procession and got us the hook up on a ridiculously powerful sound system. The main DJ of the night - though others jumped in, including Matthew - was DJ Identity, another local friend.



Identity
Photo credit: DJ Empirical

When I spent the night with Miguel and Mark in San Diego a few weeks ago, they were telling me their favorite moments of the night and we were all laughing. Miguel recalled that the first record Identity put on the turntables got tons of people to jump out of their seats and dance. We don't remember what song it was, I just know that when it happened I was surprised it was still light out and people were already boogieing so hard.



Matthew AKA The Librarian

The fact that we opened the bar before the ceremony started - a hot tip we got from Sara and Michael - may have helped. The bar at their wedding was accidentally opened early and they received many thanks from those who sat through the ceremony nursing margaritas. We decided to do the same, but on purpose.



The night before we had a pre-party in the "train depot" on the Oneonta grounds. We had the land and the buildings all weekend so took advantage of the ability to pre-funk and let everyone get warmed up. I know some people think weekend-long weddings are overbearing but I think that if you have a lot of people traveling in from out of town, it's kind of nice to be able to pace yourself. As long as no activities are mandatory since I hate being told what to do.



The aftermath of the pre-party was a mess with empty and unopened bottles everywhere and from here Jocardo foraged a bottle of honey bourbon that everyone drank after the wedding ceremony was over.

Judy, my mother-in-law



Jim, my father-in-law



Me



Our minister was Sara. The founders of the Universal Life Church may be crazy but they are also brilliant. I think it's beautiful that so many of us now officiate ceremonies for each other instead of some crusty old guy who doesn't even know you.



This is a photo of Sara slow dancing with Laura, our friend who made party favors for all of the guests.



Laura started Blackett Body Basics because her kids had allergic reactions to the products she bought in stores. She handmade all of of the bags we gave out and surprised us with the idea to imprint some of them with our symbols the key and the bee. So sweet. The second photo below is Motor Oil, the hand moisturizer she and Matthew designed for Race Car Productions.





Chrissy from Wai-Ching Clothing made my dress and I got my metal bouquet from the Refinerii Etsy shop. I first saw my boots when Matthew and I were walking around Vegas on Jan 1, the day of our Elvis wedding. I knew they were my wedding boots and went into the Diesel store to try them on but they didn't have my size so I didn't get to wear them that night to the Graceland chapel. Then, a few months later, I found them online for half off. Score!





Neil and Monica, the hair/make up team during the summer on tour, made us look pretty. Neil doubled as ring bearer and Monica as wardrobe. I especially liked when she steamed my ribbons using her flatiron and some heavy breathing and when she smooshed my boobs together so that we could pull the corset tight.









We bought thank you gifts for family members, the wedding party, and people who helped out from Cyberoptix Tie Lab and picked out scarves and ties with different hand-silkscreened designs that made us think of each person.



Appetizers, dinner, and brownies were made by A Forkable Feast, Jane's mom catering company. Thank you Randy Bloch! The wine served was Burnet Ridge, a winery in North College Hill, Cincinnati.

Bob Ihrig, a Cooper friend, took photos after the ceremony. And lots of others helped out, offering to pick people up from the airport, drive people home, do errands, and pitch in any way they could. It was seriously such a group effort and makes me really happy to remember. Plus? So fun.

So your family isn't lactose intolerant

Jane and I opened her parents' fridge and counted 33 sticks of butter and 13 tubs of Graeter's ice cream.

Late afternoon corn maze sunlight

Ohio. Round on the ends and hi in the middle. The Heart of It All. So Much to Discover. Ohio.



Oxford, OH

Hopefully a good pedicure will erase the first year of college

So my mom has decided to clean out the attic. What this means for me is that every time I go over to my parents' house to do laundry, I get a box of my old stuff to go through. We'll decide what to throw out and what to keep and judging by the three boxes I sifted through last week, the choices pretty much make themselves.

Some of the things I threw away: torn up leather sandals from 1992, 19-year-old papaya-scented hairspray, a city No Parking sign that I'd hung in my bedroom in an attempt to feel like a bad ass at age 16, and photo developing solution two decades past its expiration date.

Somethings I found and kept! CISV village t-shirts circa 1986 from my camp in Newcastle, England. This week I've sported my old sweatshirt from Iceland and shirts from Korea and Norway. The fact that I can still wear a shirt I wore in 1986 says much about how freakishly fast I grew as a kid and how flat-chested I have remained as an adult.

Also of great joy and fear in equal parts is the big, big box of letters that I received, and much more painfully, sent over the years. At some point after high school, Andrea sent me all the letters I'd written her since ninth grade. I've read a couple and they make me want to put my head under a pillow and scream. And weep. And then scream.

And then there's this postcard:



Wow. Seriously?

I remember so well what it felt like to be me back then and it wasn't often comfortable. I was kind of awesome but I also sucked. I would never, for any price, go back to that time. I was mature in some ways and stunted in others. I meant well and had a big heart but oh, I was a shithead. I wanted to be a bad kid, much worse than I ever was, I wanted to get in trouble, but I was too shy to make much happen.

And I wrote about it all A LOT. In the letters, my long drawn-out explanations and insecurities are punctuated with unintentional hilarity but there is only so much I can take at once. Ever since the first night the box came home and I shuffled through the overflowing envelopes, howling and shrieking, I have glanced at it sideways and then quickly made myself busy.

Example: my cuticles look GREAT today. Perhaps, in giving myself a frantic manicure, I can file down all memories of high school.

Much easier on my self-image are the letters from others, my favorites so far being from my cousins Mary Beth and Lauren. Holy. Crap. From when I was 12-17 years old and they were three and five years younger than me, we wrote letters that have ART PROJECT written all over them. I don't know what I'm going to make out of these but something must be done.

Riverdance vs. The Librarian

I was just sorting through emails and found a video that I forgot I had because I'm a stupidass.

Matthew playing records at my going away party a hundred million years (three weeks) ago. Oh, and the voices of people talking in the background. My friends, the ones I haven't called in three weeks.

Then, you know how You Tube lists "Related Videos" that you might want to check out? It offered RIVERDANCE as a Related Video to Matthew on the turntables. Uh, what?

Did someone tell You Tube that Anonymous and I went to Riverdance with my parents right before I left town? And that Anonymous was mildly concerned about being spotted and getting a reputation as a Irish dancing enthusiast?

And that although both he (or she! you don't know who it is!) and I agreed that it was a tad repetitive but less hokey and more impressive than we expected, I got a vicious case of giggles the first few times the lead guy came on stage. He is just so bouncy. And erect. And I know that you can't exactly SLOUCH while Irish dancing but his posture plus my immaturity made it difficult for me.

Thank you, You Tube, I had forgotten about that.

Shadow Hare!

Cincinnati has a superhero who calls himself Shadow Hare. He is a real live 21-year-old in a wrestling mask who fights crime and jokes around with homeless people. He was on the news!


Thank you, Evan and Stephen

April remix

Dang it, is it the end of April already?

April 1: Why do conversations about the wedding make me say, "The more we talk about this, the more I want to elope!" and my mom say, "Fine, elope!" and me say, "You made me promise not to!"

April 2: Watching Cirque Dreams Jungle Fantasy is a lot like watching porn. Stick to the acrobatics, people, that's what we came here for. The "plot" is annoying.

Side note: The Mongolian School of Contortion has some very fine graduates, all of whom are named Byambatsetseg Oyunbaatar. And by very fine, I mean they could walk around naked in a circle on stage and I would give them a standing ovation.

April 4: Visit Oneonta, the possible wedding site in Melbourne, KY with mom, and become transfixed by the 19th century house (former brothel), the tree house (bridal suite), and the general store (replica of owner's grandparents' general store in North Carolina). Announce, "I've GOT to have this place!" and then look over my shoulder to see if anyone heard me sounding like a bridezilla.

April 5: Consider starting a competition in which people submit ideas for what we should sell at our wedding general store.

April 7 - 10: Go to LA and work on American Idol budget. Not a great blog topic.

April 14: Will Sunny go into labor today?

April 15: Will Sunny go into labor today?

April 16: Will Sunny go into labor today?

April 17: Realize that every time I make a change in the budget, answer an email, or take a phone call, I think at least THAT'S done before Sunny goes into labor! My preoccupation is not helped by the fact that every time Lindsay calls or emails from the office, she asks about Sunny.

April 5 - 26: Eat Ethiopian food with my old ReSTOC roommates, have coffee and dinner with Andrea, eat Indian food with Matthew, Andrew and Jocardo, exchange approximately 900 text messages with Renee and feel generally warm and fuzzy about old friends from the 80s and 90s who I hadn't seen much of until I moved back to Cincinnati.

Side note a: Intensifying sad feelings about leaving again. Side note b: I am eating a lot. And this is not counting the run-ins I've had with the blueberry muffins I eat when stressed and/or tired (emotional eating).

April 24: Walk to Devou Park with Matthew to play with the glow in the dark frisbee I bought at Target. Sadly, it's daytime so we cannot fully appreciate the frisbee's glow in the dark properties except when I peek into my tote bag to check and see if it's still glowing which it always is. Also, sadly, we play frisbee like elderly people. I want to blame the fact that it was windy and we were on a hill but secretly I know it's just us.

Winded, we sit down and a photo session of couple-y self-portraits ensues. Intensifying sad feelings about leaving my fiance for four months. Side note: I am getting more comfortable with the word fiance.

April 25: Pris 80's party at Molly Malone's. HAHA.

April 26: Go to Playhouse to see Last Train to Nibroc starring the guy who was dancing really funny last night at the 80's party. Eat with Jocardo and Matthew after the show and find a photo of a little girl on the sidewalk. Wonder what her story is.

April 27: Eat mac 'n cheese with Rachel. Also, it's Sunny's due date, therefore will she go into labor today? Miss call from Sunny while I'm at lunch and feel like a bad doula. Call her back to find that she just wanted to say hi and is out shopping for vegetables. Tell her that she scared me. People who are nine months pregnant should not be allowed to make phone calls unless they are in labor.

April 28 - 30: Three weeks until I leave. Arrange to pay bills online since I'll be traveling. Work on the budget. Start a book my dad gave me, The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, which seems really good. Feel effective when I'm reading but afterwards procrastinate by cruising Zappos (ineffective). Read fiction because it's a good escape. Worry about how much of our Netflix queue we can get through before I take off. Worry about how I'm not blogging. Decide to blog real quick before I go back to working on the budget.