Reverse Writers’ Block: A Work In Progress
NOTE: POSTED IN HASTE. I WILL EDIT THIS, I ASSURE YOU, WHEN TIME PERMITS ITSELF.
More Mornings Than Most:
Alarm sounds …Primo sounds. I rub my eyes, sit up in bed and reach for the ceiling. Some mornings I pull the covers over my head (As any child will tell you: monsters can't harm you when you're shielded with 100% poly-cotton). I beg Primo for "just 10 more minutes …Please?" (which doesn't work). I crawl out of my bed, walk into the kitchen …still rubbing my eyes and blinking. By this time, Primo's going around in circles and the rest of my brood has followed suit.
A couple of weeks ago, I happened upon a 1968-era percolator (Yes, I research such things) …That's been my choice coffee brewing method, as of late (which makes number 5 in my different ways and contraptions to brew my morning cup 'o joe. None of which a drip). I plug in my percolator and breathe a sigh of relief that there has yet to be any sparks (it's an older model, after all and well I was raised on slapstick comic hijinks). As that starts to perk ("Perk! Perk! Perk!), I dole out the morning's fanciest of feasts to the four dizzy felines @ my feet. I wash down my morning vitamins with a tall glass of water and reach into my cupboard for my oatmeal. Each morning, I'm greeted with a new fact thanks to my oatmeal packets. I feel this saves me time learning something new so early in my day.
What I'm getting at is that I figured since I've been rather laxed (no direct correlation to the oatmeal) in my "blogging" …And my daily run ins have been piling up, causing a bit of mental congestion …I'm going to present them in a sort of medley …in the form of my oatmeal packets. My run in will serve as the content and @ the end of each, I'll let you in on some of my own oatmeal packet IQ boosters.
All of which could have gone without any of the above explanation but then again, I wanted to make mention of my percolator …Wasn't that fun?
Grab a spoon.
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Boogie-Jive!
My Mother called while I was in the midst of taming my hair before heading out towards a nearby coffee shop.
She started to explain (without a hint of irony) how her boyfriend, Brian (former LAPD turned doctor …They've been dating for a month or so) were dancing, the other evening …while listening to Bobby Brown. Somehow Michael Jackson came up …Something about beats and how white people only dance to the treble hence why they are all over the place on the dance floor …My Mother gave emphasis to the beats of "old" Michael Jackson …
Mom: " ….You know, we used to like him [her + Brian] …until he became a pedophile."
And without skipping a beat she continued on with her story …She did the same when she stopped using the term "dance" altogether and started using "jive-boogie" (I should also mention that hours after this conversation I would have both "My Prerogative" and "Billie Jean" running simultaneously in my head …on a loop …at the same time).
Wait, I forgot to mention that one of Brian's undercover jobs during his LAPD career was taking down the seedy crime mavericks known as the Chippendales. Yes, those Chippendales. According to my Mother's story, Brian had to go undercover as a Chippendale for 30 days. Allegedly, the Chippendales were soliciting sexual favors from audience members post-show or as my Mother put it "It's very unprofessional to get blow jobs while on the job!". In comes Brian to save the day! So now you know why the Chippendales will not be appearing in city near you.
Mother: "Well, you know back when we lived in the Burm house, I actually had tickets to see the Chippendales …I'm glad now that I didn't end up going."
Yes, me too.
Note: Burm house: I was for 4 years old. A style of housing half underground.
Fact: The Israeli government has lifted it's ban on adult films. The first domestically released adult film Israeli adult film is entitled "Assraelis".
To Be Continued ...
See how that works?
Org. Post: Friday, October 19, 2007
Flying For The British: It’s Physical, Not Mental
"THUNDER"
"TONITZ"
"BratCat"
"Jerry's Network"
"CoCoNet"
"ScoutysMac"
"jdawg"
…All security-enabled networks from my apartment …Each one stronger given my location within my apartment. Needless to say, I look @ my neighbors in a whole new light.
"Could that be TONITZ?"
"THUNDER, is that you?"
"Hey Jerry, can I place a pledge for your password?"
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[Taken from the November Issue of Chicago Magazine, "Corrections" section]
"In 'Bootie Up' the description of boots 3 to 5 were reversed."
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This past Weds., I was returning from a Brown Elephant thrifting excursion (4 new books that I didn't need in tow), when I ran into my neighbor Derek (sans girlfriend that hates me) Unbeknowist to me, Derek has been working on a book for the past year. We started talking and he gave me the details ...He's a bit of a World War I buff (something else I didn't know) and his book is centered around a 12 yr. old Indian boy that flew for the British during WWI (true story). He's making it into a childrens' book and shooting for a 10-14 yr. old demographic ...He's also copyrighted a patent on an action figure.
Somehow, someway Derek got in contact with a man, residing in Inida, who wrote a book about the Indian pilots of WWI. Derek's awaiting a copy of this man's book via mail. Which led me to tell him that I have a bit of an "in" w/ UPS ...Hilarioty insued during our conversation and he's now in the know about my tendency to hug men dressed in brown.
Derek intends on slipping 10 pages or so (he's also doingthe illistrations) of his impending book, underneath my front door so that I may read/edit and give him my honest opinion.
This could be interesting ...
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On the radio today:
[An ad for Swheat Scoops Cat Litter]
"Swheat Scoops litter works like magic! I have 11 cats and you could never tell!"
11 cats? Litter mustn't be the only issue here ...
On Thursday, shortly after clocking in @ work, my phone started to vibrate. "Mom" and a few minutes later "New Voicemail". I was sort of alarmed as to why my Mom would be calling so early ...Especially since we had had our phone pow-wow the previous morning. When a free moment presented itself, I opted to check my voicemail. The reception was bad so what I did hear of the message my Mother sounded as though she was crying. When I finally had another free moment and clear reception, I gave my voicemail another listen:
"Hi honey, Mrsa. Dugger just stopped by, she saw me outside. Her daughter Abby just had her first child and she was born with a bilateral cleft lip and palate. And of course, Mrs. Dugger knowing that I had you, wanted to tell me about it. I think I might stop by the hospital and give Abby some words of comfort that they still turn out to be BEAUUUUTIFUL, lovely young ladies, like my girl ...My wonderful, lovely, gorgeous daughter. I love you and just wanted to share! Bye honey!"
This is really new for my Mom ...Seeing as she often takes the stance of poster-Mom for cleft lip + palate children, thanks to well, me.
Throughout my childhood, I remember attending a handful of baby showers for people I'd never met ...I was a "special" guest ...Someone my Mother had met @ work or through a friend of a friend. The baby shower would be for a child born with ...you guest it ...a cleft lip + palate ...And I'd walk around, allowing people to look @ my upper lip and up my nose ...Complimenting my surgery ("See Barb, it's not all that disfiguring") and realizing that it's not the end of the world ("Amanda is my little artist ...She paints and plays both the violin and cello! See Barb, it's purely physical! She's not retarded!")
Weird, indeed ...But I usually got free cake out of the deal.
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Last Saturday, stopped off @ a train stop store for a pack of smokes.
Me: "American Spirits …Blue pack, please."
Clerk: "Is that your real hair?"
Me: "Ah, yes [nervous short laughter complete with a tug @ my mane]
Clerk: "Can I touch it?"
Me: "Ah …"
Clerk: [before I could say anything reaches across the counter and starts petting my crown] "WOOOOOOOOOOOOOW …."
Me: "Blue pack? ….Please?"
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My Mother is aware that I "blog" ...While it's still a bit fuzzy to her ...She often asks how my "writing" is going and though such terms are foreign to her ..."blog" and "posting" she often uses them within context whenever she's telling me a story.
I think "off-the-record" will soon become "off-the-blog". Here's an example mixed in with a recent tale my Mother told me.
(This story gives me goose bumps)
My Mother's boyfriend, Brian (Formerly "the black doctor," still black, still a doctor but she now refers to him simply as Brian ...former LAPD/undercover Chippendale) ...was one of five children, raised in Pittsburgh by his single, hopsital secretary Mother. Food stamps, government cheese, last winter's snow boots 2 yrs. reigning ...You get the picture.
Mom: "And Mandy, I know you might write about this and you can, my dear but please don't ...blog ...this part, ok?" [in a hushed tone] "Brian was so poor as a child that he and his brother + sisters at one point ...shared a bed. They slept like sardines!"
When Brian was in grade school, his Mother surprised all of her children with tickets to see ...The Jackson 5! She had been saving up and knew what this would mean for her children.
Mom: "Mandy, I mean, the JACKSON 5! Oo my! Could you imagine!? I LOVED the Jackson 5! They were like my Beatles!"
Brian hoisted his little sister onto his shoulders during the show so that she could get a better view ...He told my Mother that he couldn't sleep for days, he was so excited. He and his siblings didn't care about being poor, they had tickets for the Jackson 5's one show in Pittsburgh. They were the coolest kids on the block.
Mom: "You know, this is before Michael Jackson became a pedaphile. I miss the old Michael Jackson ...He had such a voice and his dance moves!"
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[leaving a message on a woman's voicemail, for work]
Me: "Hi, this is Amanda @ Treehouse Animal Foundation. I got your message and I'm just returning your call about having your cat noodled …Ah! Noodled!? Ha! Er, I mean neutered. Please give me a call back …Thanks!"
Org. Post: Friday, November 02, 2007
If You Expect The Unexpected, Is The Unexpected Then Expected?
Mashed potatoes and I have a (pun intended) mish-mash history.
Maybe it's the smell of a fresh box of crayons that will forever remind you of your first day of school (be that 1st grade and/or your "Super Senior" year of high school …I pass no judgment. However, I've sworn off Crayola since they elaborated the names of colors, which includes 8 different hues of purple. "Purple Mountains' Majesty" looks just like "Grape Ape") …Or maybe the dankness of late November with it's leafless trees and graying grass, reminds you of those longwinded fall family drives. You know, the ones where your parents squabble in the front seat and you sit tight in the back, testing your aim with gingersnap cookies out the window (You have that memory, right? What? I used to get car sick, a lot). Where was I? Ah yes, association (well, that's what I was attempting to get at) …Namely that of those famine avenging spuds.
The first 13 yrs of my life taught me that hospitals and surgeries include the following: Highlights Magazine, paper nightgowns, steel toilets, carnations/baby's breath, pastels (in general), nausea, the smell of disinfectant and chocolate Ensure, more nausea, waking up every other hour to a routine blood draw, soap operas and …mashed potatoes.
After my last surgery (a bonegraph @ age 13), I lived on mashed potatoes for an entire summer. Since the operation involved both my left hip and the left side of my mouth, I fell prisoner to my Mother's mashed potatoes (to her credit, they were a childhood favorite …briefly [insert "Jaws" theme]). Breakfast, lunch, dinner (maybe with a side of corn. Which I boycotted after finding out that corn doesn't digest and I thought that was just well, wrong).
So imagine my joy, a week ago, when one of my pearly whites decided to rebel and invite it's friend Sinus Cold, to the mouth mixer "I'm concerned seeing that you still have both your tonsils and your wisdom teeth," my dentist told me during a 7AM emergency phone call, when the pain had reached white hot, "I'm going to prescribe both Amoxicillin and Vicodin …And a liquid, palatable diet., until the swelling goes away."
Two hours later, I found myself walking home with my prescriptions (which read: "Amando Phelps") and a giant sack of red potatoes (which read "on sale").
So started my liquid diet …Nightly/daily choking down that starchy and "palatable" mash.
A few notes:
-I realized that I make a mean mash, not going to lie.
-When Sinus Cold moved in a few days later, I added a lot of fresh garlic …a lot. Thankfully, I wasn't seeing and/or talking with a lot of people. I'd probably would have been a hit in "Little Italy".
-As a nice lil Amoxicillin side effect, I couldn't really keep down my mash so I had to relive it twice, sometimes three times. Hey, I'm just being honest.
Throughout the entire week, that followed, I was sent home from work …Upset because I enjoyed the company of having people around …Opposed to the silence of my apartment. Let's just say, I read a lot (not to complain. I had forgotten just how enjoyable "Choose Your Own Adventure" books truly are) …And I'm almost positive that my cats enjoyed having quality time with their somewhat coherent owner (You thought I was going to say "Mommy," didn't you? Ha!).
This week, I found the pain/swelling subsiding, my strength slowly restoring, my prescription bottles empty and working straight through my shifts. Tuesday, I treated myself to a Thai dinner (complete with a crunchy cucumber salad) and by Weds. I was near 100% and ended up going out. Sinus Cold packed it's congested bags and that ultra sultry Bea Arthur tone of voice was (sadly) no more ("Press 1 …"). Go team Amando!
So imagine my joy, as I walked home earlier this evening to a familiar pain, in my mouth …And a slight swelling. I made a pit stop @ the grocery and now have a 5lb bag of red potatoes, in my kitchen.
Think positive, must think positive.
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I spent three hours on the phone with my Mom, this morning. At one point, we started listening to Van Morrison together.
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Some things to think about:
-If you attempt to fail and succeed, what have you really done?
-If Barbie is so popular, why do you have to buy her friends?
-How can you tell if a Smurf is choking on something?
If it's +-0 degrees Celsius in the evening and it will be twice as cold in the morning, how cold will it be then?
-Would a fly without wings be called a walk?
-When pet food has a "new and improved taste," who tasted it?
-Another word for synonym?
- …If you plant bird seed ….??
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From my non-existent vaults aka I'm behind on my "blogging," aka you've probably heard this one already aka remember my incoherent oatmeal packet analogy? Look for the fact @ the end.
You Are Atoned: Save Me A Saturday Night
Scene: Waiting for northbound bus. Since it was Yom Kippur, a nearby Temple had just let out and I found myself smack-dab in a sea of newly atoned, fashionable INSERT. (A quick side note: At first, I stood there, leafing through one of my newly acquired books when a maintenance man and/or mechanic walked by, did a double take and asked "Iranian?" …He then continued walking, looking over his shoulder. I should have known that the course of my day was about to turn.)
Older Jewish Gentleman (OJG): "Hello there"
Me (Me): "Hello …"
OJG: "And why weren't you in Temple today?"
Me: [polite short laugh]
OJG: "You're very pretty. You have …a wild look about you."
Me: [pressed grin] "Thanks" [More like "Thanks?"]
OJG: "You have gorgeous hair …I don't mean to be rude but is it real? It's very gorgeous"
Me: "Yes, it's all mine and thanks, again"
OJG: "So what do you do? [glances @ my bag, which bares the WLUW logo …Somehow he thought that made me a dancer …???] …Are you a dancer?"
Me: "No" [pressed + polite grin/laugh combo]
OJG: "You have a very nice paleness"
[Mental thought1: "How dare you remark on my summer tan!" 2: "Hello, bus? It's me. Where are you? …!"]
And then like a scene from some movie about angelic buses (You know, something like that)…The bus arrived.
OJG: "Where are you off to?"
Me: [points to bus] "There …Have a nice day, sir"
OJG: [stammers] "Could I see you sometime?"
Me: [walking to board bus] "Maybe you'll see me around."
I board the crowded 36, a sigh of relief …Enter weirdness factor two. There was one seat left and the aisle was packed. I sat down as though I were playing musical chairs …I turn to my right and then it hits me. Fred …And then it hit me: He's still alive.
Five years ago, I used to frequent a diner located on my old street. I was sans any form of coffee making …Their coffee was good and cheap. That's where I met Fred …An elderly man (emphasis on elderly …very elderly), who resided at a nearby "home". Fred had seen better days (World War II and Vietnam not amongst them) but he still smiled his gummy smile. He'd mumble to himself, his eyes would leak perpetual tears and he occasionally made reference to his colospy bag. I hadn't seen him in years and as mentioned, I wasn't sure if he was "still with us," if you will. Sure enough, though, there he was, that gummy smile, sitting next to me on a packed mid-afternoon bus. He started to talk with me (or to me) and somehow he started asking if he could come home with me.
[Mental thought: "Drive bus driver …Drive like the wind!"]
On my left, a nicely dressed and (obviously) nervous woman sat next to me …As Fred, who didn't recognize me spat laughter and saliva. At one point, he rested his hand on my own for a split second. People were starting to stare …I pressed a smile and counted the streets. Fred eventually spat a drawn out farewell, of sorts …I wished him a nice day and to take care of himself. After he stepped off of the bus, the woman seated next to me admitted to me that this was her first time on the bus and (I quote) "It's scary on this thing" …To which a jolly man (honestly, that's the best way to describe him) piped up "You haven't seen nothin', sweetheart!"
FACT: Turtles can breathe through their butts.
(You're welcome …And yes, that was an actual factoid found on my morning oatmeal packet …Mmm)
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October 22, my brother turned 21. I received the following text that evening:
Matthew: "Dude! I just had an appletini! You have to try one! My friends dared me to try one and it was awesome."
Sigh. My brother …The same person who when my Mom was pregnant with him she asked me if I wanted a brother or a sister? I replied that I wanted a unicorn. That said, I adore my brother but c'mon …a unicorn would have been rather neat.
Mom: "That's when I knew my Mandy thought out of the box."
Org. Post: Saturday, November 10, 2007
Like The Corners Of My Mind: Crocheting Cobwebs
Saturday: The fact that I have done all of the following, within the past 24 hrs. since starting my original "blog" entry, shall serve as a bit of amusement, after the fact:
-10AM found me, still wrapped in my powdered cheese colored robe, on my hands + knees, in front of my bathroom's radiator. In a move that would add a sparkle to my dear friend Neil's eye (or eyes, he does have two …Well, w/ glasses, four), I was making use of my old toothbrush (recycling!) …Dusting years of dust from said radiator. I had been holding off turning it on for the season until a proper cleaning, to fend off any "worst-case scenario" worry of fire or a horrid smell.
-I decided to finally refurbish my beloved but somewhat tattered armless, Eames-inspired (but Kroehler-made …The Midwest's mid-century guru) green chair. Pounding away with my hammer head …Literally, my trusty hammer throughout the handful of years has been without a handle …Anywho, pounding away with finishing nails between my lips, there was a knock on my front door. I knew my neighbor, Derek, was home since he had overheard my radio and was sang along as he jangled his keys into his lock …I opened my front door and Derek handed me a hammer with …a handle! I laughed, hammer head in hand and thanked him. A hour or so later, I finished my handy-dandy project and knocked on Derek's door to return the hammer …"Happy Holidays! It's yours, I have two" …I then held said handled hammer as an award, thanked him and went downstairs (still clutching my newfound hammer) and checked my mail. Fortunately, I didn't run into any of my other neighbors. I have to admit, I was rather giddy over my new gift. I now have a genuine hammer. Life's surprises can be funny.
Derek: "You can hammer in the morning …"
Me: "I can hammer in the evening!"
-I finished cleaning my apartment …Which I have to brag is generally rather clean but as of right now, I'd invite you to eat off any portion of my apartment (as in lasagna on floor, not actually gnawing on my apartment). I even dusted my ceiling fan, after watching it circle above for a bit and unable to shake the urge to do so.
-My evening's plans have been postponed for tomorrow evening. That said, I found the rest of my day open so I pulled my hair back, grabbed my gloves, my laptop and headed off to the coffee shop. I then spent a couple of hours, coffee cooling to that last cold sip, checking my email and maybe even chatting with a few of you, my faithful readers (Then again, I don't think my brother ever reads this).
-Basking in that deliciously free wifi, I ordered a few of my digital photos to be printed and ready for pick up @ a nearby Walgreens. I opted to hang around and wait for the "Your photos are ready!" email, which came a hour after I placed my order.
-Picked up photos and started a bit of a collage on my fridge. It's nice to see some of your smiling faces staring back @ me as I pour myself a glass of water or inject Primo w/ insulin.
-That brings us up to now. I just got out of the bathtub …And yes, there was water involved. That omission fits in with my attempted blogging, last night …My treasured radio blaring the local oldies station, perched on top of my newly clean as a whistle radiator, a new/crisp copy of TimeOut: Chicago. I went a bit overboard with the bubbles to no major mishap, thankfully.
I'm sitting @ my not a speck of debris coffee table …determined to post a new entry before my head hits my pillow (and yes, my pillows are freshly laundered…Can you feel my glow?)
Before I copy/paste/edit/second-guess my last saved document, a few extras from my day.
I received the following two myspace messages within the course of a day :
Title: KICK ASS!!!!!!
I just moved to the NW side of the city from the burbs and upon visiting you site and checking out some of your pictures I have come to the conclusion (without knowing you) that you kick ass!!! ha ...you're an odd one and i like it!
Brad
Title: weirdo
not sure what I think about you yet...weirdo or dork..maybe a combination of both...and just to mention, I am not trying to be mean, I found your pictures great, just sunny great, some of them put a big smile on my face...so here I am, emailing you hoping that we could get to know each other better, I am not trying to push my luck, or be a perv, just being honest, and no, not every girl on my space get email like this from me...anyway, I'm Victor, 29 and just looking to meet some cool new people, so maybe we could share some thoughts sometimes, or share some new experiences and have a lot of fun with it...no bs, no drama, no strings attached, so if you email me back I't won't meat that I will be all over you - that's harassing and I don't do that... so talk to me..... :)
One could easily accuse me of being a bit wordy but I can't seem to find any words for the above messages. Thank you for not being pervy? It's a great reassurance (that I will certainly past along to my Mother) that you won't jump my bones? ….Sunny?
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On my early evening walk home from Walgreens, I walked by a Streetwise peddler.
SW Guy: "Beautiful girl …Love your hair."
Me: "Thanks …"
SW Guy [yelling up the street towards my back]: "Is it yours!?"
Me [over-shoulder]: "Yes, IT IS!"
And I thought he was going to offer me his Streetwise schtick. Silly me.
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Many of you might recall my accidental hug w/ my neighborhood UPS man, a couple of months back. My cheeks still turn a pinkish hue whenever I recall that moment. Well, UPS man is now looking for me and asking about me @ work. Wonderful.
So let's add this up: 2 myspace guys that I've never met, who won't jump my bones, "sunny" smile at my photos and who I won't add as friends (which would break my myspace Golden Rule: I only add those I know), a Streetwise entrepreneur and my UPS man …And I live alone w/ 4 cats, because?
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Ok, the following was written, last night:
Friday: A funny thing happened while I was out blogging ..
A couple of days ago, we'll say Wednesday, I sat here, we'll say my sofa, and started to write.
A couple of months ago, we'll say September, I took my very first "vacation," from work. Meaning I took 3 days off using my stored vacation days, which correlated with my normal 2 days off. Woo-laa, 5 days off in a row. A first. I thrifted to my heart's content, spent sun-soaked afternoons in a coffee shop, caught up on my list of apartment to-dos, went out with friends, etc. (Had that chance encounter with the older Jewish gentleman, on Yom Kippur …You know, the usual). My biggest plight , my mission: relaxation …And just how to go about doing so. In hindsight, my "vacation," taught me that I indeed need to focus on such Relaxing …Not the quest of finding a Jewish sugar daddy, thanks). I racked my brain, as I usually do (not so relaxing, mind you) on just how to go about actually relaxing. I contemplated aroma therapy (my sinuses said: no), I debated taking up painting again (again, not all that relaxing …If you knew me during such days, so long ago) …A-ha! My solution? That sudsy, childhood pastime …The one thing that many neglect after crossing the threshold of adulthood (student loan officers, aside). Bubble baths! How I used to spend hours, pruning away, in the bath tub, as a child. I went to the local grocery, purchased a large bottle of bubble bath (vanilla bean …aroma therapy meets hydra therapy) and felt somewhat optimistic on this whole relaxing bit.
Quick side story that I'm not sure I've mentioned as of yet (Lord knows my brain has quite the backed catalog of stories that I have yet to commit to type …Though, I'm sure I've audibly done so to many of you already. Thank you for baring with me).
Around Labor Day, someone within my building acquired a karaoke machine. My faithful neighbor/coworker/friend/band-mate Marshall knows exactly what I'm talking about. At first it was the usual karaoke circuit material …"Love Shack" (By the way, it's "tin roof …rusted"), "My Sharona," anything by Billy Idol, etc. Soon it progressed (or rather digressed and hey, I live here so take my word for it) to what could only be best described as a dying animal in the middle of the courtyard. My dear Alton, ears bent backwards, started to yowl. I have no idea, be it man or woman, just what on Earth they were indeed singing.
So there I was, on "vacation," lying back in my sea of vanilla scented suds, repeating my newfound mantra "just relax, just relax …r e l a x …" when I heard "Onnnnnne liifffffeeeee ….onnnnneeeeee loooovvvvvvveee …." …Not since Bono himself have I heard such a mind numbing rendition of "One". At one point he/she gave up on the teleprompter all together and just started to repeat "One ….one ….one ….onnnnnnnnneeee." I had no choice but to laugh and think "What would Larry David do?"
So that brings us up to speed on my newfound weekly ritual: bubble baths.
Earlier this week, we'll say Tuesday evening, the eve of my day off …I was taking a bath (and to you wise acres, I took it in my bathroom, thank you very much), reading the latest copy of the Onion. Bathing with the Onion on two literal planes: the actual reading and then dropping said paper into my bath water, the ink bleeding onto my knees. Before such a bathing mishap, I scanned over a regular Onion feature (it's tagline escapes me). Basically they have a hot to trot, current (aka "promoting something") celeb set their iTunes (which is becoming the new toaster, everyone has one) and briefly explaining said track/artist. The celeb in my ill-fated soggy copy was Jason Schwartzman. I figured, why not give it a try, maybe even a whirl. It's a bit odd (though not unintentional, mind you) that I rarely write on the subject of music, which is where I got my start almost 8 or 9 yrs ago. Taking a cue from Schwartzman, "I'm just trying not to sound like a cocksucker."
This brings us up to Wednesday and sitting on my sofa, laptop in front of me, see how that works? I really should take up knitting.
I hit random and sat ready to jot down whatever appeared. "Baby Said," by Hot Chip started to play. A song, an album and a group that I'll readily admit I had never given much of a listen to. I fell in love with the song and a hour or so later, it was still playing. I then hit random again, Braid hit the cue, which resulted in a trip down memory lane, complete with digging out my Braid DVD, watching it and texting Jason about how much Hey Mercedes sucks (Jason: "minus the first EP").
I then abandoned the project all together.
And here it is, Friday night. I've been awake since 5AM, had quite the jam packed day, went to the coffee shop and sat for a couple of hours, came home, made dinner and I'm freshly showered. Let me try this again.
[I should note that @ the end of that last sentence …I hit random a handful of times on my iTunes, typed up what songs appeared, walked away and went to dry my hair, thinking I'll go back and give each song a listen. Seriously, if this is ever posted, I will consider it a personal victory.]
Update: I then went to bed.
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Saturday: Before I post this maze of an entry, I'm going to give the mentioned "Onion project" another go.
[shuffle]
-"Self Ignition," by the Silver Jews: "And the pumpkin on the porch is trying to heal itself/I don't like magic and I don't like tricks/Having a helluva time thinking we exist/The mailman dreams he's Paul Revere/He wants the whole town to buy him a beer/And I have to remember that your not wanting me, doesn't make me any less here" …That about sums it up. It's unfortunate that this gem of a Silver Jews' (aka David Berman) track remains rather unknown amidst the rest of the Silver Jews' catalog. One of my favorites.
-"Time Lost," by Piebald: The double-disc "Barely Legal/All Ages," release from Piebald is the only one worth having. Shortly after this release, I bid a farewell to this Boston-based group. I giggle now, remembering what once was and thankful that I never found out what became. Good guys but what once made sense, that time (now lost, get it? Ouch, I should have left that in my head) isn't able to hold up now. Listening to this track makes me feel like the guy @ shows, you've seen him, standing in the back, maybe off to the side and wearing a faded/torn Harvest t-shirt (Jason: "They all wear plaid now.")That guy knows things that you don't.
-"Not About A Birthday," Geoff Farina: An old friend of mine, who I lost touch with throughout the years, had moved to San Francisco. He sent me a package filled with a few of his favorite things (How else would I own a copy of "The Martian Chronicles"?). Included in that package was a copy of "Usonian Dream Sequence," by Geoff Farina. Not the best of albums to listen to late, when you're feeling lonesome …Unless you like salt in your wounds. A great album, don't get me wrong. Haven't given it a full listen in years.
-"Little Wet Head," Minus Story: If these guys come for a visit in your city …go. That is all. Actually, one little tidbit, Ladyhawk was headlining a Minus Story show that I went to, earlier this year. Ladyhawk being my profile's latest song …I ignored Ladyhawk's set . I regret that now. Whoops. Minus Story though, just go. The same goes for any of Jordan's solo performances.
-"Sweet Avenue," Jets to Brazil: This song makes me blush. Blake's writing style (if you could call it that) can be brutally (I'd call it that) honest to the point of cheesy and/or a level of vulnerability that seems embarrassing to the listener but only because you know that feeling. "This day could someday be, an anniversary, everything is light and sound". Both Jawbreaker (Blake's former band, which I realize in typing that I probably don't have to even mention) and Jets to Brazil have the feel of your favorite sneakers. And though I've been close to Blake @ a few Jawbreaker shows, I don't know and only refer to him by first name because I hate trying to spell (let alone pronounce) his last name. "Now all these tastes improve, through the view that comes with you, like they handed me my life, for the first time it felt right". Blush.
-"Ache," Jawbreaker: The above still stands …I think I listen to this song after every break-up or moment of uncertainty. What is going on? Geeze, what a bummer. "So right, so wrong, another winter's coming on/you win, you lose, it's the same old news," "Lean your head on mine, like you used to/I don't mind if you're faking it/make it seem real". Ouch.
-"Opportunity," the Jewels: Hooray! A torrid tale of a friend who let success get to his head but with that hi-fi production and handclaps, need I say more? I celebrate the whole "Girl Groups Sounds: Lost + Found," box set.
-"Jump Into The Fire," Harry Nilsson: Dear Mr. Nilsson, I know you are no longer with us but I just wanted to let you know that I've always wanted to adopt you. I'm sorry most people (all those midnight cowboys) solely remember you as the guy who "put the lime into the coconut". Sigh. Harry Nilsson.
-"Free Radio Gainesville," Hot Water Music: What is this? (my iTunes' shuffle selection, that is) …C'mon aboard, memory lane. Though, I still listen to HWM to this day and will continue to do so because well, they are HWM. To be song specific: I really hate Florida. "No Division," is a great album, don't get me wrong but I've always leaned more towards "Never Ender". Call me nuts.
[Do you notice the length of my "thoughts" shortening, much like your attention span. I stopped reviewing for a reason.]
One more
[shuffle]
"Hey, I'm Over Here," Lemuria: Ha! Figures, I forgot that I'm listening to my iJason. I've said it before and I'll say it again, this is the only band Jason has been in that I like and would actually consider myself a fan (no offense to the Failures' Union, ok?). Look, I just promoted …twice! (And for those who are reading this and work with me …Yes, that's where I got Lemuria's name).
And with that, personal victory is mine!
Org. Post: Wednesday, November 21, 2007
We’ll Make It I Swear: Thank You, Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin
I was never a Girl Scout. I was never a member of Campfire. I briefly remember a day-camp that involved sailor hats and badges but I can't recall more than that (Well, I do remember a camp counselor w/ a jerry curl and singing some song about cheese and bologna. Like I said, I can't recall more than that).
I've watched some MyGyver, in my time (who hasn't?) but the nights when my Mother allowed me to stay up past 8PM to watch Love Connection trump all such memories ("Be back, 2 in 2").
My Father went through a phase while remodeling my family's home (Now my Mother's home. My brother will be moving to Grand Rapids, come January.), where he subscribed to every home/how-to magazine. "This Old House," was usually on throughout the weekends and I came to look at Bob Vila as a kindly uncle that could turn a water logged, abandoned shanty into a palace, within 30 minutes (22 minutes, not counting commercial time).
Summers were filled with trips to the lumber yards. Come Fall, Id help my Father with 2x4, 4x4 and bent nails. To this day, on the rarest of occasions, I find myself in a Home Depot, I
feel an odd comfort. Weird, I know. That whole year was quite the time within my household. My arents would fight on a regular basis (opposed to just the weekends and family trips) and a few months before the house completion, we moved in. The bathroom wasn't complete yet, at least the shower part, so my Mother would take Matthew and I to the local community center to bath. When the house was complete, it quickly became quite the show upon Avon St. Neighbors marveled @ my Father's craftiness and just how he turned the once condemned house (on a block filled with both old and new money, cookie cutter lawns and summertime block parties w/ egg salad, lemonade and Cheez-Its) into quite the looker. My parents stopped @ nothing, this was their dream home and my Father had done everything by himself (minus the carpeting and drywall).
I've digressed from why I originally started writing. My original point was my morning pumpkin pie massacre, which is funny now considering what I've digressed onto. I supposed with Thanksgiving tomorrow, my thoughts are with that house, that family and with recent mornings, I do miss the built in heating lamp, that my parents had installed in their bathroom, assuring a warm and toasty exit from the shower.
I'm not one to divulge in-depth family stories, aside from the ironic and humorous ones. I'm not going to start now, don't worry. I've grown to know that such tales are hardly individual and they generally creep up around this time of year. I'm happily working tomorrow and the memories of my Father moving out one Thanksgiving day and returning to slice the turkey really do not hold much gravy as the years go by. I keep trying to remember just what year that was or how long my parents have been divorced. It seems silly to rack my brain for a minuet detail.
I think of my family now, how the time has changed all of us. My Father travels the world, my Mother is going back to college and my brother, as I mentioned earlier, will be moving to Grand Rapids, at the beginning of next year.
I barely recall that confused, somewhat frustrated girl that passed the mashed potatoes at a silent Thanksgiving table, one November so long ago, to a Father that was no longer sharing our address.
If anything, it's such that built my foundation, my adoration between the domestic, the want to celebrate holidays, who wanted to bake a pumpkin pie in some attempt to capitalize on the season …And the practicality of reality, the joy of holiday pay and the need to stay busy.
And that is where I will begin my initial reason for writing: pumpkin pie.
Last night found me at my local grocery, basket in hand. I had just spent a hour or so at a coffee shop, the glow of my laptop, trying to find the perfect vegan pumpkin pie recipe. Perfect in that it has the least ingredients, cost-effective and still might have some taste. I browsed the grocery aisle after scrawling the "perfect" recipe on a napkin.
I opted for a pie with a tofu base, canned pumpkin, a pre-made crust (the most vegan and healthy one I could find that didn't resemble cardboard) and pumpkin pie spice. I think the spice blend was the most costly but I'm sure to make use out of it. I already added it to my morning bowl of oatmeal.
Lately, I've taken to falling asleep both with my trusty Updike book and my alarm clock's radio set to Oldies 94.7. I woke up this morning to the Monkees' "Daydream Believer," and in the moment between awake and sleep, I was remembering watching the Monkee's television show reruns, as a child and that Mickey was my favorite at the time, before I matured and leaned more towards Mike Nesmith.
Coffee, oatmeal, radio, feeding my cats, washing the few dishes left in my sink and summing up the rainy day outside …I decided to get a head start and make my pumpkin pie. I blended the firm tofu and pumpkin puree until smooth, in my food processor. I added the proper amount of spice, a pinch of salt and the dark brown sugar (I never have such in my cupboards …It's kind of odd. As a child I would sneak a few clumps from the bag as my Mother baked …I'm a bit grossed out by that now). Things were going ok, the filling had a glossy orange sheen and I cranked my oven to 375. A few minutes of preheating and into the oven (of doom) it went.
My oven/stove has been referred to as "cute" and I'd have to agree (beaming w/ a pride as though I had created the oven/stove myself. In my defense, I do clean it and that shine is all my doing). A couple of months ago I realized a slight problem …When baking, ribbons of smoke start to pour out of the top, through the burners …Which in turn triggers my smoke detector, which really gets the heart pumping. I corral the cats into my bedroom and open my kitchen door, fanning out the smoke …This generally has happened after 7PM, when I get home from work, still in my scrub top, hungry and tired. This happened on two separate occasions before I spent a morning scrubbing out the insides.
My scribbled directions said to bake 30-40 minutes …I barely made it to 3 minutes before my smoke detector started to scream, smoke started to pour out and I went through the drill: cats into bedroom, standing in the doorway of my kitchen door, opening/closing, oven off, pumpkin pie w/ it's custard consistency back on the counter. This went on for 25 minutes, the smoke detector went off again and I was sliding all about with my fuzzy socks, making haste.
I decided to put my unbaked pumpkin pie in the fridge in some last minute hope it'd magically set. I then sulked to my sofa.
After a few minutes of silently cursing at my oven, my fingertips cold with the air from outside, still coming in …My mind kicked into high gear. How can I save this pie? Actually, baking was more for consistency …Since it's without egg or dairy, I needn't worry much about salmonella but still, I wanted to bake a pumpkin pie! I wanted to ring in Thanksgiving or feel that I had @ least given a try.
It then occurred to me: Why not try to steam bake it, in a pot on the stovetop? Eureka! Maybe it was the ghost of infomercials past, a time in my life when I first moved to Chicago, chronic insomnia …You know, the all-in-one cookers that can either steam vegetables or bake cornbread in the lid compartment when you're tender leg of lamb, with injected herbs and bulbs of garlic simmers away.
I grabbed a stock pot, covered the bottom w/ water, clicked on the burner and awaited a boil. As the bubbles started to hasten, I slowly lowered my hangin' on a prayer pumpkin pie and set the lid down w/ a slight opening. 15 minutes later, I snuck a peek at my waterlogged pie (too much water and the condensation from the lid dripping down) …I had tried, I turned off the stove, grabbed a potholder and lifted my pie out of the stock pot. Though, just as I was about to set it on the counter, there was a pumpkin slide and a quarter of the unbaked orange gooiness landed on my pristine stove top. I grabbed a container, scrapped the remainder of the pie w/ crust into it and set it in the fridge. A pumpkin pie custard, it would seem. I'm sure it'll be delicious.
Later on this evening, I'm going to attempt vegan stuffing. I need time to recover.
Happy Thanksgiving.
Org. Post: Saturday, November 24, 2007
You Can Never Call Home Again or You Nev all Ho ain
Dearest Jeff,
Back in July, after my move, I made mention that your print you gave me so long along had made it into my new apartment. However, I neglected to tell you where, exactly.
We've known each other for years. While our relationship didn't last, I wanted to make sure that your print was seen on a daily basis …By anyone who came over for a visit …And in turn received the attention it so justly deserves.
Lovingly,
-Amanda Jordyn
Before moving to Chicago, I had had the same phone number for most of my life. Since my move, I've had 3 different phone numbers, my most recent after going mobile. There are times that I still must double-check to make sure I'm not confusing it with others past.
However, my childhood phone number, much like one's social security, has been ingrained in me for years. I'm sure @ my moments of most peril, I could readily recite it, I could dial it in my sleep.
That said, imagine my shock @ my most recent voicemail, from my Mother, yesterday.
"Hi Mandy, it's Mommy (I'm always amused when she tells me who she is). I'm just calling to let you know that I've got rid of Charter and I now have a cell phone! It's Verizon. So honey, this will be my sole number. Make sure you save it, jot it down!"
She then went on about how her Thanksgiving went w/ Brian (formerly known as the "black doctor," still black, still a doctor but she refers to him by first name now). The turkey turned out perfect and tender, her mashed potatoes were quite a hit and the gravy was smooth. All of this went in one ear and out the other, to be honest, I was too busy thinking: "Wait, you got rid of your phone number? But, but …but!"
I can tell you right off the bat, I have mixed feelings about this new number. It reads funny, it doesn't have that rolling off of the tongue ease.
Now before you rush to judgment, I don't fear change. Sure, it can take a little time but I can accept it as a natural part of life. The ebb and flow. For instance, a few years back, while on the phone with my Mother (which I now think of as "the golden phone number days"), she asked me if it'd be ok if Matthew (my brother) could move into my old bedroom. When I stammered, she finally broke it to me that Matthew had indeed already moved in …3 mths previous …And she had sworn him to secrecy to not tell me until the time was right. I assure you that my tears were of …joy. My confusion as to where my things left in said old bedroom, was purely natural. The anger that rose when she told me that they had been stored in the basement, which had been through a recent, unexpected flood, a month before, was purely accidental and she felt really bad. To her credit, I had left such things when I moved. Who really needs their entire artistic portfolio from age 8 to age 20? What was I to do, moving into a small/breadbox of a studio, that first year, with mementos of any and all happiness I had back in Michigan? Why stand in the way via Chicago from my brother's need for more space, to remodel my safe haven from so long ago …I'm sure my stereo (vintage Pioneer, from my Father) looks quite handsome next to his xbox and his anime posters. That light green carpet (that I picked out), the life-sized built-in corkboard with every ticket stub, photograph, flyer and snippet of my teenage life, I'm sure fits snuggly with Matthew's Mars Volta memorabilia and photos of Naomi Watts.
I've somewhat digressed …What I'm saying, without any hint of bitterness or tongue in cheek, is that I'm fine with change and the fact that I'll never dial those 10 numerals again, is just part of the whole "ok with change" bit. Granted, had I known the last time I called home that it would be the last time, I would have dialed slower, I would have punched each number with a farewell finality.
So my Mother now has a cell phone …That's fantastic, I'm proud of her for joining the ranks, the same ranks I myself joined a mere 5 mths ago (Yeah, I finally got a cell, this year …I assure you, that has nothing to with my fear of change …My trusty landline served me well, throughout the years).
I do have some reservations. I imagine my Mother forgetting to recharge her phone or turning off the ringer without knowing. I'm not giving my Mother enough credit, you say? She's made it 50 yrs., she has had 2 children, been through school, held down her phlebotomy position @ the hospital for well over 20 yrs., taught aerobics for 21+ yrs., traveled the continent, served as local president of MADD (Mothers Against Drunk Driving) …I understand but allow me to share one moment that sticks out in my recent memory and could held shed some light on my concern.
My Mother once called me, frustrated and confused, she was trying to send an email. She explained every step she had taken. She even read the email to me. I offered a few suggestions, my brow starting to askew as I myself grew confused and frustrated. Finally, my Mother went step by step and read out loud what exactly the screen looked like (I really hate this sort of thing). I grew silent. "Mandy, are you there, honey? I really need your help. I don't know what it won't send!"
"Mom …It won't send …because you've typed the email in the To: section …where the email address goes …"
As luck would have it, my phone rang during that last sentence. It was my newly mobile-Mother.
A sign of things to come:
Mom: "Hi Mandy!"
Me: "Hi Mom …I was just thinking about you."
Mom: "What Mandy? [silence] …here what …said. I'm driv [silence] home."
Me: "I was just thinking about you. You're driving home?"
[silence]
Mom: "…cold. How are [silence]"
Me: "Mom, you're breaking up"
Mom: "Is this better?"
Me: "It was a complete sentence, yes. How are you feeling? Any better?"
Mom: "…ache. I'm going home and taking [silence]"
[silence …line goes dead]
I had to laugh.
A few minutes later, my phone rang.
Mom: "Sorry, Mandy. I'm still trying to [silence] to this cell [silence]"
Me: "You're still breaking up."
Mom: "[silence] are you?"
Me: "I'm good. Did Matthew explain your phone to you? You said it was Verizon."
Mom: "Is it? What do you have?"
Me: "Um, that's what you said …I have Sprint."
Mom: "[silence] 400 minutes"
Me: "Free weekends?"
Mom: "[silence] ..don't know. Hey baby, let me call you [silence] later."
Me: "Ok …"
Mom: [silence]
Me: "Bye?"
Mom: [silence]
Me: "Mom?"
Mom: "Bye!"
Yep, change. Ebb and flow. My Mother now speaks like a billboard missing a few letters.
[silence]
Org. Post: Monday, November 26, 2007
Dunkin’ For the Team: Nice Curses + Nice Creepiness
You've seen my mariachi radio …My stations? NPR/Chicago Public (no brainer), Steve Dahl's morning show on Jack 104.5FM and 100.3 Love FM (Go right ahead, scorn, scoff. Two words: Motown Mondays. Enough said). I can't forget 94.7 Oldies, which remains the only station my alarm clock is tuned to.
Usually, come weekdays, I'm busy getting ready for work when Steve Dahl's show ends @ 10AM, hence why my radio stays on Jack for the rest of the day.
I'm basically trying to explain as to why I was just listening to Bon Jovi's "Livin' On A Prayer," and reminiscing on how I thought, as a child, that Jon was singing "Take my hand/We'll make a nice swear," (as in a nice curse) opposed to "Take my hand/We'll make it, I swear" …Which is why Jon Bon Jovi always seemed like a solid guy to me. A nice swear, how sweet.
____________________________________
It's seems silly to say (er, type): My neighborhood just got a Dunkin' Donuts/Baskin' Robbins …This is Chicago not rural Haverstraw, Nebraska. That said, my coworkers are ecstatic about the new introduction and I, myself have finally found an answer to those mornings when I'm really not in the mood to make coffee (A self-crowned "coffee snob," such mornings may seem quite the shock. But trust me).
Today marked the new Dunkin' Donuts' third day, since their grand opening. Though, they still have someone dressed as a large cup of DD coffee, waving outside and greeting those passing by.
Since their grand opening (again, a whole whopping three days ago), I've heard a few complaints here and there from my coworkers on service. It's true that they almost put milk in my "just black" coffee and overcharged me a dollar but consider the situation.
Today, as I ordered my "just black, extra large" coffee (must keep it simple), I decided to try a little positive reinforcement in a half-ditch effort that such would improve service (I obviously think very highly of myself). As though channeling my Mother, this is how it went:
Cashier: "Welcome to Dunkin' Donuts."
Me: "Good morning, how are you?"
Cashier: [a bit taken back] "I'm good! Thank you for asking!"
Me: "No problem, how's business?"
Cashier: "Busy but good!"
Me: "Well, this Dunkin' means a lot to the neighborhood." [sometimes I creep myself out]
Cashier: "Oo yeah! It's really busy in the mornings!"
Me: "That's great. I'd like one BLACK, JUST BLACK …EXT-RA LAR-GE, coffee, please."
Cashier: "Cream and sugar?"
Me: "Oo no thank you …JUST …BLACK."
Cashier: "Just black?"
Me: "Yep!"
[hands me my coffee, no cream/sugar and my change]
Cashier: Here you go, have a great day! It was nice seeing you again."
Me: "Thanks, I hope you have a great day too ..And I just wanted to say that you're doing a great job."
Cashier: [gasp] "Thank you! No one has told me that!"
Me: "Take care! See you tomorrow morning."
Cashier: "You too! Thank you, again!"
So I went a bit over the top, I know ..But hey, we've all been there …The cashier, that is. Maybe you're obnoxiously nice too. We've all had the new job jitters …I can say this though, with a little hope, I'm sure she'll never forget that I'm the one that orders the "just black" coffee. Then again, she might put cream in my coffee come tomorrow morning. I'm being optimistic.
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