moving on

finals week!

dear u.s. government,

Tragic story out of Kato today: http://www.mankatofreepress.com/local/local_story_126091507.html

Can't say I blame him.

one of those conversations

I think I'm going to go to Montana next week. First North Dakota, then Montana. Will you drive? No. Take the train out of Minneapolis. When? Right after the movers come and clean my apartmnent out. Why? Because I don't want to go home just yet. How come? I have my reasons. What are they? My fault. Are people going to be mad? Yup.

what my iTunes top 10 Just For You song selections might say about me

Me and iTunes have a special connection; you might call it a thing. I give iTunes things (money) and iTunes generates long lists of you bought X Album, which means you should spend $9.99 on Y Album. Our relationship is strictly monetary. We don't call each other and chat about how the latest Broken Social Scene album lacks the umph of the Feist years and we don't think to send one another themed compilations via snail mail. It's rare if I purchase a song from the Just For You list, songs iTunes tells me "have been chosen just for me" because I know what I want to buy before I get onto the site. iTunes is not my store, it is the register that allows me to walk out of the store without the alarms sounding off. There's no annoyed riffling of money by the young goth chick stuck behind the counter at the record store who sees that I've purchased some Pixies and wants to know if I've heard the new Breeders album. On iTunes, if I purchase the Pixies, they might tell me I should purchase Colbie Caillat (just puked in my mouth a little).

But, what if there was actually a person behind my Just For Me selections, plugging all my purchases into a database, cross-referencing genres and artists to come up with the perfect musical cocktail? What on earth must this person think of me? What does my iTunes top 10 say about me?

10. Fools, The Dodo's
This girl has bookmarked Pitchfork. (...and visits it at least once a week.)

9. Flourscent Adolescent, Arctic Monkeys
This girl likes internal rhyme that's clever without being annoying (true, as a writer I pay attention to the sound of words) and she likes obscure nature references (also true! I'm a NatGeo/Nova/Discovery nut!).

8. Choo Choo Ch'Boogie, Asleep at the Wheel
Umm. OK.


7. Run Rudolph Run, Chuck Berry
Okay, I get Christmas songs a lot. It's for my annual Christmas mixes. I hate them 11 1/2 months out of the year, but it's all worth it once December rolls around and the fam is dancing and singing and drunk and waiting for Santa.

6. Baba O'Riley, The Who
Rock musicals...hell yes. She's got Hedwig and ATU. She's gotta love The Who.

5. School of Hard Knocks, Van Morrison
Hmmm...from the looks of it, a priviledged white girl. Better throw this one in.

4. Everything She Wants, Wham!
This is one of those out-of-left-fielders. For the record, Faith and Freedom George Michael does not equal Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go George Michael.

3. Things I Don't Remember, Ugly Cassanova
This girl likes Modest Mouse. (This makes me think there's more to this list generation than I thought because all the MM in my library is from my own personal collection; none was purchased on iTunes. They might just be on to something.)

2. Little Boxes, Pete Seeger
(Maybe you do pay attention, iTunes! Bravo.)

1. Bleeding Love, Leona Lewis
(Shit. I'm not mad. Just dissapointed.)

hugs n kisses, bitches

I'll be leaving my home in Minnesota soon, so hugs n kisses to all my bitches!
I've learned some things while here. Here are just a few:

• It's never a good idea to get online when high. Enjoy your high. Don't spend it dicking around on Gooble at 2am. Especially when W is passing out on your couch and you had initially planned on spending the night and the whole next day by yourself without even your phone on because you just wanted to forget about people for a day. Now you're gonna have to wake up to that day with one in your living room. But come to think of it, that's probably what killed your high...dicking around online is just fallout.
• Whenever possible, please please please listen to your music through headphones. Preferably those big, suction cup-looking ones that block out all the other noise. If this is absolutely not possible, use the ear buds. All other music listening should be done thusly, in priority order: 1) live, 2) in the car on a decent system, but with the windows up and the bass up, 3) anything else.
• There are a lot of stupid, propagandizing, ignorantly raging, faux intellectualizing feminists out there.
  
• There are a lot of smart, inspiring, creative, active, informed, human, bold feminists out there.
  
• God is created by man. god is not.
  
• People inspire me.
• When students send you funny YouTube videos, it means you're making a real difference!
• Music captivates me, art astonishes me, creativity overwhelms me, so I know why I am doing this.
• Bjork is a trip.
• But an even bigger trip, like of the blowing-your-mind-caliber, is flipping back to your iTunes and realizing that the song you thought was a Bjork outtro was actually a Rocco DeLuca intro...techno/etherial sounds, potential for animal/Bjork random noises at any moment, and all! Ahh!
• I've seen a lot of fucked up stuff the past few months with new eyes. I feel like I'm in on it now.
• I've always imagined that I'd be one of those right-justified, small-fonted first and last names sitting unassumingly under a powerful, quotable, loggable, memorizable, recognizable quote. You know, something people know. Something high school girls basketball teams might write in glitter letters to team-mates for inspiration before a big game. Something archived by category, author's last name, or chronology and posted on Famous Quotation web sites all over the web. Something that might be turned into a cross-stitch pattern and laid into pillows, blankets, jar tops. (Okay, not that. I wouldn't want anything I write to be displayed by the general population in this manner.) Anyway, obviously, the major worry was that I'd never be able to come up with anything close to a quote- and follower-worthy statement. Tonight, I think I've made a good step in the right direction on my path to be respectably quoted:

It seems to me that you cannot and should not wholly trust any source that claims it provides all the answers you need.

In other words, I think the Catholic Church is a crock and too many people believe too blindly.

• Getting so high then staring at a bright screen in the dark makes me sleepy. Goodni...
  

mom's dream

Opened up this email in the library today. Laughed out loud. Thrice. Got sideways looks from a few folks.

Hi Punkee,
This is what's going on around here. I had just woken up from a nightmare that you and I were kidnapped and held as hostages, except that you were a little boy and we were being held in my Grandparent's house and I actually had a small hand gun in my pocket that the perps didn't know about and I had just called the police to report our situation and the po-po had just pulled up to rescue us even though I think I could have handled the situation, when our actual phone rang at 6:00am and it was the actual DBQ police calling. The officer was wondering why our Jeep (even though we had registered it in Emily's name) was sitting in the middle of Park street. We suggested he ask Emily. He proceeded to knock on her door to inquire. It seems that the car rolled from its parking place and ended up where it did. #!**
Love, Mammy

Mother, if I have inherited anything from you at all, let it be your skill with the run-on sentence.

Oh, and your pistol-wielding dreams.

And your awesomeness.

preposition + noun = paragraph

On exams:
Comprehensive exams are over. Well, the test-taking part anyway; the evaluation and pass/fail-part is not over yet. But still, stress has been reduced by 90% in this matter, and for that I am grateful. Now, all the things I've put aside because I was too busy not studying enough for my exams, all those things can be addressed. Things like:

Reading the book Annie Dillard names as one of her favorites: The Great American Forest by Rutherford Platt, 1965. After checking my email to make sure my electronic Word document of my exam had been successfully sent to faculty, the second thing I did was to go to the MSU library website and see if they carried this book. Sure as shit, they did.

I curse being required to read 6 books for the exam with the vim and vigor of Tom Cruise on a Scientology rampage. Why, while I'm plowing through my chosen books, am I making lists of books and why am I compelled to count down the days until the exam is over just because that will be the day I get to read anything else? Why do I resent my favorite book of all time because it prevents me from reading an old hardcover with due dates stamped in various colors, a loose spine, and that distinct old cardboard smell? Avoidance. That is all.

*

On names:
I realized that I need to marry someone with a last name that begins with the letter "D."
Ani DiFranco
Annie Dillard
Anna D______
This will not fulfill me. I am not that pathetic. It'd just be kinda fucking cool.

*

On names for dogs that I do not yet own:
"Jem" and "Scout" are out. (And for that matter, so are "Boo" and "Dill," or worse yet, "Atticus." Can you imagine?) I thought the To Kill a Mockingbird theme would be fun, but I think it leans more towards pretentious.

Here's where my thoughts lean: Fella and Mr. The first, an ode to the greatest poodle ever, Jackson, as it's the nickname Ma often called him. The second, Mr. (pronounced traditionally or as mee-sta), works on a few levels because a) it matches in theme with Fella, b) it can be an obscure reference to the great book and movie (and okay, even Oprah's Broadway "adaptation" wasn't half-bad) The Color Purple, and c) I can't wait to write it at the vet's office or when signing him up for agility tournaments.

shiny happy person

In the spirit of the last post, I'm making another list. For some reason I'm having difficulty lately conceptualizing ideas in chunks of prose, which is my usual thought process. Needless to say, this doesn't bode well for all the thesis writing I have to get done by the beginning of next week. I'm sure it's a symptom of avoidance...on a very sub-conscious level.

Let's simplify things. What I'm happy about:
1. A 50 degree day today. Loooong fingers of water reaching across parking lots, snow mites on the surface eating decayed leaves, sun sun sun, warmth warmth warmth. It's scary how much weather regulates my mood--how a warm, bright day that comes just after turning the clocks ahead can snap a funk so easily. I need to bottle that shit and sell it.

2. My iPod shuffle selections tonight have been marvelous. Hit after hit. The last three have been St. Vincent's Marry Me (favorite song of the moment), Yeah Yeah Yeahs' Rich, Ray Charles' Lonely Avenue, and Missy Elliot's Hit Em Wit Da Hee. Quite a mix. Outstanding.

3. The potential opportunity to go to Korea for four weeks at the end of the summer and teach English to middle-schoolers.

4. My parents waited until after exams to tell me that we'd be taking a family vacation to the Ritz Carlton at Amelia Island in June. My aunt and uncle took them (and all the sisters and brothers but none of the "kids") last year to participate in their wedding (their second to one another, after a divorce a few years ago). My parents loved it so much they've decided to return and take us with them. The funny thing is that they are basically going on a vacation to the Ritz Carlton, not Amelia Island. They love the hotel: the food, the entertainment, the free bar with over-the-top cocktails in the lounge on every floor, the beds. They couldn't stop talking about the beds. I'm just happy to be going on a trip with my family again. It's been awhile.

5. Speaking of family and aunts, I'm also happy about Aunt Jane sending me a Happy St. Patrick's Day card two weeks early and signing it:
Love, Gary & Jane (and Rocky Boy Floyd)

6. Productivity. I sent off two job applications today (and one I might actually have a shot at), graded six research papers, kicked my ass at the gym (and L's ass, too), and enjoyed a bit of the day.

7. My clean apartment. I'm generally a kitchen/bathroom neat-freak, so those weren't an issue. The issue was the multiple stacks of books piled into mini Pisa's in my bedroom, living room, and in a not-so-convenient perimeter around my dining room table. They are now on shelves, organized by genre first then height. All spines facing the correct direction. Order. Balance. Need these to survive.

8. I finally saw Into the Wild the other night with the P-ster, and it wasn't good. This is not the "what I'm happy about" part. Though I would have liked it to be a good film and for Sean Penn to have succeeded, this just confirms my opinion that Into the Wild was one of the best nonfiction books ever written in its execution, research, reportage, treatment of character, and insight. So good it'd be nearly impossible to re-create the depth of the story on screen. I'll give the movie the final scene where Chris finally expires in the bus (for any unfamiliar with the story, I'm not spoiling anything here). It was moving, well-acted and well-shot. However. I found the script (which I think Penn adapted himself) heavy handed and trying a bit too hard. I found the effects and editing distracting; there was no reason for them. Oh, and the moose scene was riveting for the fact that it looked like real moose was used, but could have been done better. Hal Holbrook was amazing and probably deserved that Oscar nomination, but his performance came across as all the better against the sub-par performances of the others (except for the always good Catherine Keener). And while I'm on actors, every single shot with the lady-friend, Tracy, played by Kristen Stewart (I think that's her name) was ramped up like a sexified preteen beauty in cutoffs sweating it up in the desert Calvin Klein ad and although visually stunning, it took away from the story of the film. In sum, I'm happy that Jon Krakauer is an amazing writer.

9. Taking this spring break to catch up with my work. Like I was saying to someone today, instead of every day being a come from behind victory, now things are more even-keeled. Stoked about that.

10. The documentary My Kid Could Paint That. I don't have the energy right now to go into all the things that I admire in this movie. In a phrase, maybe just the way the narrative modulates. I don't know. I'm still trying to wrap my brain around it I guess.

11. My decision to reduce the five major assignments down to four in Comp. It's Spring Break and we've gotten through two thus far. It seems logical to me to take the last half of the semester for just two more and make them really good and in-depth. I'll have Easter and the onset of Spring figetyness to deal with, so this arrangement will be best for all.

12. I made a pretty delicious fish recipe this evening. Salmon with some garlic, honey, and spice. Not much because salmon is a pretty strong fish anyway. But it was good.

13. Did I mention the warmth? and the vacation? and getting a lot of shit done? So many things to be happy about. Making it to number thirteen on this list, for consistency sake. That's good, too...you know, with the Order & Balance and all.

ahh nostalgia...i'm all nostalgic for you

My time in Minnesota is almost through and here are some things I'll miss:

1. Tuning the radio dial to 89 7 on Thursday nights for a most magical musical hour between 6 and 7 with Shelly and Tim.
2. The 3 hour block of World Cafe that preceeds Shelly and Tim on Thursday and fills the afternoons the rest of the weekdays.
3. Living 2 minutes away from a pretty decent library that's always stocked because the students do their research online.
4. Returning home to a family I haven't seen in 4 to 5 months.
5a. The wine bar where the old and fairly harmless looking but obviously shitfaced guy started braiding my hair with his dirty fingers and offered to buy me a drink.
5b. Accepting drinks from old and fairly harmless looking but obviously shitfaced guys at the wine bar because look, they're Minnesotans. Is there really any reason to worry?
6. Finding all the things that make Iowa better than Minnesota.
7. My students. My freaking a w e s o m e students. The bright, smiling faces, the cooperation when they sense their teacher has only gotten 3 hours of sleep and is still trying to make English interesting and challenging, even the OCCASIONAL eye rolls (especially the ones they think I don't see). All of it.
8. Delicious recipes concocted from desperation, an empty pantry and limited appliances/utensils.
9. The $2 movie theater downtown.
10. The trees.
11. The Grass.
12. 1st Ave in Minneapolis for their sweet concerts and crazy pre-show vintage kiddie commercial projections.
13. Conversations in the TA office. Notably those that center around the Russian Civil War. Namely the one C and I had for a solid forty-five minutes (and how quickly that time sped by) after which he handed me two 300+ page books on the subject for nothing more than my personal interest. Books he happened to have in his desk. Lit TA's are a trip.

happy leap year

see ya in 2012

notes from the comp classroom

I'm teaching right now. Teaching and composing what is sure to be a not-so-clever-or-well-crafted-blog. But then again, not many of them are clever or well crafted. My students are furiously typing at their computers, writing stories with transitions. Vampire Weekend is playing. No heads are bobbing like mine is. I'm not sure they get the subtle but total awesomeness of this band. When I'm not in this classroom, I can think of little else than my impending Comprehensive Exam and this is why this time period is my only opportunity to post an entry here.

I've gone through some pretty drastic hills and valleys with this whole Comp Exam thing (see this). During the weeks after NYC, I was so paralyzed (from what is too big a subject to even mention here) to even begin to think about them. Overly dramatic, yes, but also true. Then, a week out from the date, full panic mode. Enough to...guess what?...paralyze me with anxiety and get nothing done preparation-wise. Then yesterday, 4 days away from what is possibly the biggest exam in my life (an exam I need to pass to have these last 3 years in Minnesota and even the whole of my academic career count for something), 4 days before the Saturday this exam will be held, I decided on the 6 books I am going to write about. This should have been done months ago. Drafts of essays should have been written and re-written by now. I should be in memorization mode so that when I show up at 9:00for the exam, I can sit down at the computer and regurgitate prose with little trouble. Unfortunately this is not the case because I'm a bum. An anxious, denial-prone bum.

After class I'll make final corrections to BER before the issue is sent to the printer. Then from noon today until 9:30 Saturday morning, it'll be all Comps with breaks to eat and sleep for no more than 4 hours at a time.

I'm a bum.

meltdowns

Early morning/seasonal:

Late night/20 seconds in microwave:

On-going/semesterly:

poodled

There's a debate between E and I over who our childhood dog--a beautiful, well-mannered, cream-colored standard poodle--was named for: Jackson Browne or Michael Jackson. I claim the former. When I ask my mom, a woman who catalogues the dates of major life events infallibly, she won't answer. She generally doesn't live in the past. When I ask Dad, I phrase it strategically: "You named Jackson after Jackson Browne, right?" because Dad has a history of giving answers that appear in or somehow repeat the question.

I don't know why it's such an issue, and probably it isn't even so much for E. I know she doesn't care much, but humors me when I bring it up. I have this insecurity about being right, and in instances in which I'm convinced I'm right, I rarely allow the issue to die until I'm proven right. So, it comes down to an old folk-rocker-alleged-wife-beater to the King-of-Pop-alleged-child-molester.

The question I probably should be asking my parents is why they deemed either one of these men a fitting figure to name our dog after.

the answer is NO

See previous post.

I'm exhausted, crabby, and exhausted...and repeating myself...and crabby.

will 3 hours of sleep really do me any good?

Third consecutive night I'm up past 3am.

I'm just saying.

movie nonz-sense 07

It's no secret I love movies, though love is too slight a word. To quote Woody Allen in Annie Hall: "Love is too weak a word for what I feel - I luuurve you, you know, I loave you, I luff you, two F's, yes I have to invent, of course I - I do, don't you think I do?" Word, Woody.

It's been a long and somewhat disappointing year for me in terms of new releases. I've had a better experience with pre-07 films (Annie Hall included...I've done some catching up) and I could write an entire issue of Cinaste covering important movies in my lifetime, but this list will be limited to only those released within the last year. This list has not been well cultivated, documented, nor researched. The only requirements of those that made it are that they had an impact on me in some way and I happen to remember them as I sit down and type this at 11 pm on this Sunday night. Undoubtedly, some great flicks have been overlooked. It should also be noted that I haven't had the opportunity to see as many movies as I'd like to (namely, I'm Not There and La Vie en Rose which I'd hope would make it on my list had I seen them).
*
Across the Universe

Okay. Any true Beatle fan (which I consider myself) would probably not agree here. However, Julie Taymor (the director who brought The Lion King to Broadway and Selma Hayek's Frida to the screen) is a captivating storyteller--bells, whistles, psychedelic bus rides and all. Her re-visioning of the Beatles catalogue is NOT what the stingy fab four fans might label blasphemous. Instead, it is a testament to the timelessness of the music, the men who made it, and the era in history it represented. Taymor's stylistic embellishments and musical numbers color the narrative of young lovers in a fucked up world beautifully. Just as the Beatles did with their music films (Hard Days Night, etc) Taymor realizes that a thoughtful pairing of music and image, when done right, is difficult to shake out of the brain. (Sidenote: this movie holds good memories of a new friend for me, the unavoidable but often wonderful truth of art and association.)

Waitress

I was not a Felicity viewer until some time in my late college years, and then only because it happened to be on in the family room around 6:00 when I was living with my parents and Mom and I would spend that time cooking in the kitchen. We were soon both under the spell of the Noel/Felicity/Ben love triangle. Oi. (Noel was the better man by far.)

Anyway, I rented this mostly out of morbid curiosity. The writer/director/actress Adrienne Shelley was murdered shortly after the film's release. That alone was enough to get me to grab it from the shelf.

Keri Russell (Felicity) plays Jenna, a pie diner waitress newly pregnant by an abusive husband. The film uses some familiar tactics: off-beat supporting characters, voice-over narration, food as metaphor as Jenna comes up with pie recipes that symbolize events in her life. What really makes this movie good is the understated humor and hard-edge that Russell breathes into her character. (I never knew she had it in her.) Her utter contempt for her unborn child was much more poignant than the sarcasm in the other "unwanted pregnancy" film of the year: Juno (which was also very good, but head to head with Waitress not as nuanced). Juno's one-liners and seeming ambivalence to her pregnancy could be chalked up to immaturity, youth, and an underdeveloped worldview. Funny? Yes. Touching? Also yes. Well acted? Definitely. However, Keri Russell deserved the accolades Ellen Paige received for drawing me in to a character I disliked for much of the movie but rejoiced for by the end. There has not been a more effectively subtle character arc this year.

Once

A somewhat under-the-radar release. I saw this one with the folks one night over winter break, and I'm finding it a little difficult to pin down just what I liked so much about it. The music, obviously--and god-love Marketa Irglova and her mouse-brown hair and ankle-length traditional skirts, but--Glen Hansard is crazy good. Crazy good. They're both obviously untrained actors, and yes that lends the film a bit of awkward charm and natural chemistry, but it's not what propels the movie. Glen, like his name, is not typical leading-man material but you wouldn't know it because from the very first scene as he rips away at his guitar in the streets, you see him as a musician and not an actor. His music and performances provide the heartbeat to this clever and sweet story. Also, big props for the resistance to the typical Hollywood formula by the end of the film.

The Orphanage (El Orfanato)

I'm not a big fan of horror and/or scary movies. Not that I can't appreciate a good one, just that it's not my preferred genre. However, when I saw that a Mankato theater was actually running the Guillermo del Toro backed film The Orphanage, I had to go. I can't say much at the risk of spoiling any plot points, but, to be vague: the pace of the film was perfect (which is something I consider essential for an effective scary movie especially--namely the mounting and release of suspense and tension), the element of magical realism was well established and well played, and the lead actress was wonderful...it was as if at the beginning of the film she took your gut, placed it into her pocket, and carried it along as her story unfolded.

A few days after the film, while it was still rattling around in my head, I remember telling AKC about the experience. As I was sitting in the movie theater, I was completely involved with what was on that screen. While watching this film, I was thinking two or three steps ahead of the action or piecing together what I'd seen and how it'd come in to play later, but always within the world of the film. Part of the appeal of movies is the element of escapism--from your day, from your family or friends, from reality even. Scary movies seem to heighten that experience, The Orphanage more than any I can remember in my life.

No Country for Old Men

This is a tricky one because I've only had a day to let it marinate. I had to travel 20 miles outside of Mankato to catch it, but luckily I have good friends up for movie road trips.

For starters, the Coen brothers have made some of my very favorite movies: Fargo, Raising Arizona, The Big Lebowski, Blood Simple. NCfOM is definitely one of the buzz-films of 07 with all the nominations and awards, and knowing that I possibly wouldn't have the opportunity to see it before it came to DVD, I tried to stay away from anything--articles, entertainment shows, friends and family--that would influence me and my initial viewing, and for the most part I was successful. All I knew going in to it was that Javier Bardem was good (AGREED), the movie was good (AGREED) and people had problems with the "open-ended" ending (WTF?).

I was first struck by the landscape and cinematography, very reminiscent of Fargo, and to a certain extent Raising Arizona--long, slow shots of open and sparse country. In Fargo, the expanse of white sky on white snow created a kind of limitless abyss, as does the dry Texas landscape. It creates a bit of an illusion: though there is an entire world for Llewelyn to hide out in, the farther he goes, the more trapped he becomes...as though his fate was sealed the moment he discovered the money. And the fate that is Javier Bardem's character is a constant presence in the movie, even when he's not on screen. Scary SOB.

A quick note about the Coens' ability to draw fabulous performances out of character-actor caliber actors. The one that stuck out to me most in NCfOM was the one and only appearance by Barry Corbin (the guy from "Northern Exposure") near the end...a 5-10 minute scene with Tommy Lee Jones. I would give all the credit to Corbin, but like I say, the Coen's have done this before.

Next is the script. There is not one line of dialogue or narration wasted. Having just read McCarthy's The Road, I was already a little tuned in and therefore able to appreciate it more I think. Much of the most important communication in the film comes in the silences, in what is not said between two characters, or between what is said instead of saying what really should be said. Just like a good novel, the audience is not fed lines that tell them what to think and feel; this experience rises from the tone and delivery of almost all of the interactions between Bardem and the main players (most effectively with Llewelyn's wife near the end).

Which brings me to the fuss over the "open" ending: I don't understand...what is open-ended about it? Maybe it's more a result of audiences used to a story wrapped up and tied with a big red bow seconds before the credits roll. By the end, all the major questions are answered, if not explicity, heavily implied by what's already been established. Anything remaining (and I won't discolse it here as not to spoil it) doesn't matter to the intention and execution of the film.

Friends: gear up for another road trip next weekend. We need to see this again.

End scene.

iowa vs. minnesota, cont.

Reason #32 Iowa is better than Minnesota:

Iowa's on its way to a record-breaking winter in snow and ice-fall. Experiencing a string of cold-ass Minnesota days and nights but an otherwise relatively mild snow accumulation, I've been on the receiving end of many shoveling, driving, ice-picking, and all around weather combating complaints over the past few weeks. There's either a half inch of ice to chisel off the drive, cancelled school days (thus delayed summer vacations), or daily shoveling and snow banks high as the shoulders to contend with.

Despite all this, I still prefer Iowa and look forward to spending winters there.

and there was music

AKC and I (ACK!) enjoyed us some Cat Power and The Dirty Delta Blues last night at the clean-bathroomed First Avenue in The Cities. There was Power, and there was Blues. But first, there was the not-so-impressive opening act, Appaloosa, and her "DJ" man-kick hereby named Georg--a waifish eastern European electro-punker. Then there was a long ass wait. During said wait there were cereal commercials from the 50's looped on a gigantic screen. Tricks are for kids, Stop stealing me lucky charms, and so forth. There was wonderful conversation between AKC and ACK (me!) during the wait...and $6 Raspberry Stolies which were mostly ice. There were cold fingers. There was no tip. I love wonderful conversations.

When CP&TDDB took the stage, Chan looked very tall. Until I realized I was just very close. And a little drunk. The band was solid; a lot of high-hat on the kit and a dirty, dirty guitar. Pretty straightforward backing without a lot of interpretation, but every now and again a song would open up (for Chan to take a drink or a drag behind the speaker stage left) for embellishment. Then there was the voice and it was amazing. A voice well worth a $30 ticket and $6 parking fee to hear live. A voice I appreciate more each time I listen to it.

There was poor lighting throughout the show. There was a spotty spotlight. There was inconsistent fade and therefore too much dark stage too often. There was also recognition of this by Ms Marshall and she requested to turn on the "go home" lights and turn off the spotlight for the last two songs. There was finally an opportunity for a shitty picture with my phone:

There were highlights: Song for Bobby. The Greatest. Aretha, Sing One for Me.
There was THE HIGHLIGHT: The best cover I have ever heard of what is arguably the best song ever written by Joni Mitchell: Blue.
There was a little bit of irony because AKC and I (ACK!) discussed Joni Mitchell during our wonderful pre-show conversation out of the context of anything having to do with Cat Power.

By the end of the night, I felt like I had just been through an intense poetry reading. And it wasn't the lyrics, most of which I don't even know. It was that smoky, stretched, confessional voice. There were times the song would open up and I'd get down to the Dirty Delta Blues. And there were moments when the only music I heard was her voice.

music snobbery

The stereo doesn't come on until about quarter after one, just about the time I'm brushing my teeth for bed. The walls are thin enough that I can make out 90% of the songs coming from the apartment next door, but diffusive enough to muddy the melody into a thudding of notes...like how you might gather the tone of a person's conversation who has their hand over their mouth, but not the words spoken. Now, as a music lover, normally I would sigh and accept this "con" of apartment living and settle under my big green comforter for the night content that someone was rocking to some rocking tunes. But before I pulled Big Green over my ears, I caught the hook. A familiar hook. A hook I associate with Wahlert High hallways and the era when pop music still had a wholesome sheen to its face. It was "I Only Wanna Be With You" by Hootie and the Blowfish.

My fears of an Idiot Neighbor's Idiot Party Playlist playing too loudly were confirmed when Sheryl Crow's "All I Wanna Do" bled through the walls. Two songs. Two wanna's. Shit. Listen, I'm not a retro music hater--it was a brilliant pop tune, but even Sheryl got sick of playing her own song pretty early on and retired it so she could go on to make some bad-ass records (by the way, dear neighbor, you'd be happy to know she just released a new album last week...check it; add it to the rotation). Then "Closing Time" came on by the band I-Don't-Remember-Who-And-Neither-Does-Anyone-Else-But-My-Neighbors. And then another round of Hootie, this time the one with the creepily catchy lyric, "every time I look at you I go blind." What does that even mean?

All I could do was hunker down and hope for no country. If it's not 90's Garth, vomiting is always a possibility. So, kept awake by the skeletons of old songs, I re-lived some memories and re-felt some feelings, but mostly I was just wondering what kind of lame party was going on next door. Were they standing in a circle as one person showcased his or her running man in the middle? I hoped maybe it was a cover. I hoped they were in there doing lines of coke secure in knowing that no one would bust a party playing soft-rock.

Then I heard whistleing, and it sounded familiar. I saw air streaming through the same puckered mouth that covered "Live and Let Die." A velvet poster on my sister's wall. A signature sway that began in narrow, leather-clad man hips and moved through the torso. The man was Axl Rose. The band was Guns n Roses. The song was "Patience" and 5 seconds of the lead-in whistle was enough to take me back.

How you know when a song is good: when it stands up to time, just like any art--visual, theatrical, lyrical, musical. I fell asleep to that song so I don't know what other tracks had been resurrected by my neighbors that night. But that was a good fucking song.

my state versus the world

Reason #68 Iowa is better than Minnesota: Caucuses.

The Minnesota "vote gathering gathering" was so disorganized that there was no forum for discussion. I'd be amazed if 70% of the voters who showed signed the registration logs that were passed over heads like a crowd-surfer. This blamed on unexpected and overwhelming turnout--this despite the consistent overwhelming turnout in each state that held a caucus or primary which began with Iowa. Iowa adapted and instead of precint captains throwing up their hands when it was evident the crowds wouldn't fit into the designated venues, they took the time to get it right.
*
Reason #114 Iowa is better than Minnesota: Netflix delivery.

Even though Netflix has a distribution center in Minneapolis, a mere 75 minutes from my home in KatoTown, I get my Netflix movies a day earlier when I'm 4 1/2 hours away in Iowa.

political rehab (warning: preachy language)

I've had an awakening and the man in the glowing robes is Ron Paul. Ron effing-republican-from-texas Paul & me: republicans-are-the-bane-of-the-earth. I finally got over my team mentality enough to realize that he is the ONLY real representation of true change in the field of candidates, and it's unfortunate that "change" has become such a buzzword because it's what this country desperately needs but is being assigned haphazardly and re-defined to fit every candidate's campaign. Ron Paul believes in the Constitution, a document written by those invested in America as a people and not America as a corporation. Ron Paul also believes in maintaining the individual liberties that are being eroded with each war fought and tax imposed.

I'm disappointed that I got caught up in the media's race by following the contest through sound bites and selected information, but it appealed to my innate desire for competition and to be on the winning team. Even the print media is at fault; even the entertainment media is at fault by distracting the public with celebrity non-news as the government propagates fear and terror and takes our liberties away one by one (Patriot Act, for example). The problem is so pervasive it's staggering and the system is so flawed that the people who run this country (and by the way, this is not the government as you might assume) place candidates in the spotlight for America to "choose." I began as a softie Kucinich supporter, not dedicated enough to fight for him early on because of the electability farce—again, that selfish attitude of having my voice "matter". Then after Kucinich was forced out of the race (yes, forced out), I was too narrow and scared to even consider a Republican candidate despite all the hype and momentum behind Paul, especially with young people. I underestimated young people. He's not perfect by any means (I strongly disagree with his pro-life policy, for example), but in a field of already or potential puppets, he's by far the best candidate if American people want to preserve their steadily decreasing freedoms.

Despite my X Files phase and all this conspiracy-speak, I'm not a conspiracy theorist, but I do know that the idea of being microchipped scares the shit out of me. I also know that evidence speaks. I know that though Bush's presidency will hit the books as a disaster, I don't think they failed at all in terms of their goals. The devaluation of the dollar and the propaganda of the "War on Terror" is driving the country into highly monitored (therefore, controlled) and less free state.

It's late in the game to be switching, I know—especially when I thought I was doing so well: researching, discussing, and caucusing in two states! Fortunately, in Iowa my Biden group didn't meet delegate threshold and I wasn't able to sweet talk enough people to add another delegate to the Edwards pile. Most recently, the Minnesota caucuses on Super Tuesday were such a zoo that 1) I wasn't 100% sure I was in the right precinct, and 2) it's likely that my hand-written vote on a piece of yellow scrap paper and handed to a nondescript man on my way out of our second voting location in a room with a rock-climbing wall didn't get counted anyway. So, I consider myself with a clean slate.

For those of you who have been playing the real political game already, why didn't you tell me sooner! For the rest, I'm not trying to force ideas on anyone (as that would be just a tad hypocritical), but information is out there and I encourage you to take the step. Here are some facts from Bill Moyers. Here's a good site for sifting through the bullshit. Go to Ron Paul's website and read the literature and keep the real issues on the table. I don't expect many people to jump to the Paul ship, but ask yourself which candidate is least likely to be bought. Ask yourself which candidate believes in the Constitution and individual liberties. Ask yourself if you really looked at the candidates—beyond CNN, beyond the Washington Post, beyond the talk at the lunch table.

I'll leave on this note (embrace the pun): Listen to Zooey Deschanel and M. Ward's rendition of "You Really Got a Hold On Me" for an idea of the American public's relationship to the Architects of their country.

SeeqPod - Playable Search


(If you're at the end of this post and silently resenting me and my soapbox, you can't say I didn't warn you!)

blizzard

Just one reason I love my mother--she sends me emails like this:

MayDay, MayDay:

This may be the last communication from Dubuque, Iowa.
Snow has not let up for 24 hours.
Once familiar landmarks are gone.

Ma and Pa Zchivago

sacred texts

I found myself in front of my bookshelf last night, my mind burdened with a friend's personal crisis, browsing the spines for something profound--words that may enlighten the situation. I rocked Dillard's "Pilgrim" onto its corner but soon returned it. Too naturey. Too Dillardy. I also considered Rand. In the end I pulled out the Tao Te Ching and flipped through its pages, 70% of which had verses highlighted pink and notations like "creator as balance" and "creator as peace" penciled in the margins. I purchased this book--considered a sacred text, I believe--for an Eastern Philosophy course as an undergrad. I found some beautiful lines, but none appropriate for my immediate situation. Before I returned the Tao Te Ching to the shelf, I happened to flip to the dedication page.

For Vicki

I thought it odd. It's like writing For Jerry in the front matter of The Bible.

*

In other news: I'll be boarding a plane to New York City in exactly 48 hours and standing in line to purchase tickets for Spring Awakening in roughly 96.
Joy!

r.i.p.

The truest thing I've heard since I saw news of Heath Ledger's death scroll across the CNN ticker last night: Australian actor Guy Pearce referred to him as the "friend I never got to meet." After all, that's what actors become to us. We build a catalog of movies, appearances, and interviews from which we pick and choose the pieces from their films that impact us. Things we relate to, things that lift us up or disgust and trouble us. In the end, we're left with an overall and ever-changing impression so that when we think of that actor, we know him as we might know a friend: intimatley and individually, according to our own preferences and perceptions. Heath seemed like one of the good ones, like he was an actor, not a star.

soundtrack to (the last 15 minutes of) my life

"Silver Lining" by Rilo Kiley: Super infectious alterna-folksy-pop driven by clapping hands and just about every corner of Jenny Lewis' always engaging range--the low, the high, the twang, and the tilt.

"Please Read the Letter" by Robert Plant & Alison Krauss: One of those urgent ballads that plants itself in your head as though it were a chore to be done before the week is out. Plant and Krauss (perfectly matched) build as the song builds but never overstep its quiet insistence.

"Walking Down the Line" by Bob Dylan: The repeated guitar/verse/harmonica structure tricks you into believing this song is simple. It conjures Woody, Muddy, Pete and every ideal they represent as Dylan strums fast to the tracks they laid.

the rule of 3

For years--many more years than a less what-makes-people-tick? person might tolerate--I've listened to Kathleen's ruminations about the stars, their power, the order of the universe, and celestial rules...all things that have led me to the rather depressing notion that our lives are not our own. I can remember listening to homilies about God bestowing free choice on humanity when I was a little girl in my jumper and hoes, excited about what I saw as wiggle room in my religion's otherwise strict doctrine. Just imagine waking up to a horoscope, anticipating your day according to a series of random declarations with all the breadth (and depth) of a fortune cookie fortune, as Kathleen did. Religiously. Is it not true that if you read what you believe to be a predictor of your day or interactions with others, you're likely to make that prediction come true whether you're conscious of it or not? Or, even more possible, you'll be on alert for any circumstances that might fit what has been prescribed thereby reinforcing your belief in the horoscope, the stars, the strings attached to each of your joints and manipulated by that big, shiny puppeteer in the sky? Despite this and despite my judgements, I allowed Kathleen to do my "star chart." I guess it tells me what planet my moon is in or what moon my sign has, I'm not really clear on that. The chart I should be living according to--hand-written on a 3' x 6' scrap paper--is now folded in half and used as a bookmark. I'll always try to respect that which I don't understand to avoid being an ignorant ass, but that doesn't mean I have to believe in it.

I don't remember when I came across the idea that bad things always come in threes (probably one of those sage sayings my grandmother tosses around like "hello's" but never underestimated by me, the one with 60 fewer years on this peculiar earth). While I don't believe in astrology as a way to map our lives and am resistant to the idea that there is a map to our lives, the rule of 3 has proven to be true on more than one occasion...coincidence at my core: yes, but there's an amazing amount of comfort that comes from these little processes. I imagine it has the same effect on me that faith in God had. Faith in a larger force requires a belief in order and order is always more deliberate and controllable than chaos, and therefore less troubling. Some of my biggest anxiety comes from my helplessness in the whole situation. All that I can do are things, gestures really, that don't produce results. Faith in the power of love and support can get you through a lot, but then as the bad news gets worse, it's difficult not to want something more concrete, the number that appears at the end of the equation. But, when the rule of 3 has a lasso around life, it's easier to believe that our lives really aren't our own, and if that means there is something--the cosmos, God, whatever--that has some sort of influence and the means to enact it, bring it on.

If my horoscope tomorrow says, "Things are looking up! You will be blessed with good news!", I will get on my knees in thanks. If it says otherwise, I will make the choice to throw it in the trash.

When you don't have the words

someone else will.

"The Greatest" by Cat Power
for T