Music and Memories

Oh, man, today is turning from Sloth to a Walk Down Memory Lane.

I'm still playing with the USB turntable. After rerecording the stuff I did yesterday, I am moving on to the local stuff not available on CD--mainly Iowa bands.

In one of my posts about Gabe's I mentioned the last time I was there--Iowa Comp Weekend September of 1988. I was a freshman in college and had come back to Iowa City for two days of local bands. During the second night they gave away a free album to the first person who knew the original name of the band Stone Wakening--I was closest to the stage and yelled the name first/loudest: Psychotrash. 1) They were a Cedar Falls bands, and 2) Duh, everyone knew that.

I took the album back with me to college, and I played it non-stop.

Shortly after the semester started, I met Shannon. Meeting Shannon was a trip, because after we became friends I found out she had devised a plan on how to meet me. She'd seen my on campus and decided she needed to know me and my purple hair. I had seen her on campus and decided I needed to know her and her long orange skirt (I eventually borrowed that long orange skirt--it almost dragged on the ground but I didn't care). But how we met and her three strike plan to meet me are a story for another time.

Shannon and I listened to the Iowa Comp II album nonstop. Listening to it now I feel like I should be smoking a Camel Light in the make-shift smoking lounge on sixth floor Miliken.

We played the hell out of this album--"Big Tough Dreams" by The Eclectics, "What if There's a Fire" by House of Large Sizes, and "Let Me in (Your Blood Bath)" by Artificial Limb Embrace. I would play the tape I'd made of the album I would drive back to Iowa. Holy Christ I loved this album. And I think I still do.

Sloth

This is my weekend of pure laziness and sloth. This is the first weekend in a month that I haven't been preparing for or traveling to an interview--and it feels great. I should be cleaning and doing laundry since this place looks like I haven't been here for a month, but I don't feel like it. And laundry? Ugh. I should also take my interview clothes out of my garment bag, but I just can't bring myself to even look at them. (And on the subject of interviews, the amazing thing is that out of three interviews only one still interests me.)

So, I have a weekend free from thinking about the future of librarianship. How to make information available to a specific user group. How to use subject-specific databases. And what am I doing? Nothing.

Yesterday I did the requisite Saturday crap--after sleeping until 10:00 am. Then the gym and the grocery store--where I found Leinenkugel's beer. I finally had the time to play with the USB turntable my mom gave me. And you know what? It it so incredibly awesome. And for the first time in years I have been able to listen to Athens GA Inside/Out.

Last night: The Hives. I know! The Hives in this one-horse town. But they were in town recording their new album and it was the lead singer's birthday. So they played at this local craphole of a bar. Me and my closest 200 friends packed into the place to see the like-dressed Swedes tear the place apart. And I got a drumstick. It was loud and raucous and my legs hurt and I sweat more than I do when I am at the gym--and it was awesome. Reminds me why I like live music so much.

Today? More lying on the couch. More playing with the USB turntable. My discovery of the day? That they actually made a Beverly Hills Cop III--and I'm watching it.

You're cute, by the way

I never thought it was possible to love a town as much as I love Madison. Never in my life have I felt as comfortable in a place as I feel in this town. This really is home. But I wasn't up here for fun--I was up here for a reason. And the reason I was here... Well, I don't think it will work out. But you know what, I'm okay with that. Really. It wasn't right for me. It didn't have the right feel. But this town? Totally right.

My hotel is on the edge of campus, so after meeting a friend for pizza (and several beers), I wandered farther onto campus--the area I spent most of my time: The Historic Society, the Union, the Terrace, and State street. I sat in front of the Historic Society. Amy and I used to sit out there eating lunch. I would sit out there when the traveling evangelical circus would pass through town and tell everyone they were going to hell. I talked to a girl walking her cat. Yes, her cat.

I walked over the Terrace. I don't have a UW ID or a day pass, so I couldn't buy beer at the Union. But I just wandered. I saw a group of people carrying "War is not the Answer" signs. These are my people. I wore my "Make Levees Not War: Bourbon Street New Orleans" shirt. I got a lot of nods and smile from people as I walked past them.

Then I walked back to State Street and walked about half way down before turning back. I knew I had to pack and take a shower and all that stuff before I head out tomorrow morning.

As I walked back up State Street I passed a group of people I saw sitting across the street from my hotel. I recognized them because one of them had a lime green mohawk. Mr Mohawk was watching me as I approached, and said,"I like your shirt." I thanked him. I got about five feet past him and he called out, "You're cute, by the way." I turned around, smiled and said, "Thanks." I wanted to say, "I'm probably old enough to be your mother--or at least her younger sister." But it still made my day.

Memorial Union Terrace


The sunset over Lake Mendota. The library school and undergraduate library are directly to the left of these boats. This was the view that we had from the SLIS library.

I miss this place more than I ever thought I would. Or could.

Ah, the Motherland...

How I've missed thee.

Yes, I am back in the grand state of Wisconsin. When asked where I am from, I am always torn. Do I say Iowa or do I say Wisconsin? I grew up in Iowa but Wisconsin always felt like home. I don't know why it did, it just did. In general, Wisconsin is an odd place. Everyone is, as my mom would say, half a bubble off plum.

This isn't the first time I've been back to Wisconsin since I left, but it is the first time I've been back to Madison. And you know what? It's awesome. I've had Spotted Cow (and I drank it in about five minutes on an empty stomach and was good and stupid the rest of the night), and I ate half of a bag of cheese curds. I have eaten at two of my favorite places: Chautara and Pasquals. Tomorrow night I will be indulging in a Fetalicious pizza from Glass Nickel.

I went to B-Side. I wondered if the music nerd I had a crush on was still working there. He wasn't there last night. I bought replacement Wisconsin t-shirts and car window stickers at Steve & Barry's. I saw the completed Overture Center. I picked up a copy of both the Isthmus and The Onion.

I stayed with friends last night. I lived with them when my lease ran out after I graduated. We caught up (they bought me the cheese curds), I got to see the dog Sasha loved to torture. We sat in the front yard and I didn't feel like my head was going to blow up. And this morning I realized I wish I'd brought a sweater/sweatshirt with me. Because it was cool--almost cold.

This afternoon T and I drove around town so she could look at neighborhoods. She wants to move and was checking out various West Side 'hoods to see what they were like. It was kind of like old times since we used to go to Supreme Pizza on Johnson and then drive around town until we got lost (and it didn't take long). We reminisced about getting pizza at Supreme Pizza and waiting while the guy making the pizza was too busy getting stoned to actually make our pizza.

And, to top it all off, it's graduation weekend. They have ceremonies all weekend--Saturday and Sunday. It's too big of a school to do in one shot. So, while I was wandering State Street yesterday afternoon I saw students, graduates, parents, locals, punks, people in costume, street people, street punks, and lord knows what else. And then I saw all the tourists with their mouths hanging open, and all I could think was, "My god, I miss this place." I also wish I'd taken pictures.

Kate

Life.com

Katharine Hepburn would've been 100 today.

Happy Birthday, Kate. You've always been one of my heroes.

The City of Brotherly Love

http://www.answers.com/topic/love-park

This week I was in Philadelphia. Spent a couple of days getting a whirlwind tour of Central City and parts of North Philly. Central City is niftty. Crowded, cramped, diverse, vibrant, and just pretty damn cool. Had dinner one night at Square on Square--a small Chinese restaurant that was damn good. Had dinner the second night a few blocks away.

Three of us set off to find vegetarian Philly cheese steak and had been directed to a place on 20th and Chestnut (not that that means much to me). I was dressed in interview clothes yet I was more than willing to go lowbrow for a veggie Philly cheese steak. But this place was pretty damn lowbrow and there was nowhere to sit. So, we wandered a bit more. I was with someone that had lived in the neighborhood and knew a few areas. There was a great Cuban place around the corner, he said, except that it was now an upscale Italian place. A little too upscale for me. But there was another "fabulous" place that was very "continental" across the street--also Italian. We went there. This was a teeny place--maybe seven tables. Kind of dark, run by a guy with an accent that seemed to be a mix of Italian and East coast. The cook had black curly hair, wore houndstooth checked pants, a white tshirt, and a long apron with tomato sauce stains. He had a thick east coast/Philly accent. Oh, man, it was some of the best food I have had in a long time. Ravioli with a ricotta mix with something else, cream sauce and fresh peas. We had brushetta, garlic bread, decaf espresso and sour cream cheese cake for desert. The chair of the search committee and I were dead set on finding someplace with alcohol, but this place didn't have a liquor license--it was BYOB. So no liquor. Although the table across from us said they would've shared if we'd asked. It was definitely a neighborhood place, and it was so amazingly good.

I heard lots of things about Philly, especially North Philly, before I went, but you know what? I liked it. Someone I met there compared it to Chicago ten years ago, and I could see that. I enjoyed myself more than I expected.

As always, the airplanes and airport were interesting. The trip there was uneventful--I slept most of the way. Although we did end up in a holding pattern above the Philly airport and then it took us another 30+ minutes to get to the gate. The trip back? Interesting. I got to the airport early to catch an earlier flight to give me a bit of breathing room in Charlotte. I ended up getting to the airport ten minutes before I was supposed to.

On the flight out of Philly I sat next to an inquisitive young man. He was eleven years old and was in love with my iPod. He amused that I had Marvin Gaye in my artist list. There were a series of other questions:

Do you like Bill Clinton? I like Bill Clinton. Do you like George Bush? I don't. Do you believe in angels? Do you believe in god? It's okay if you don't because everyone can have their own opinion and that's okay. You have a Razr phone? And an iPod? You must be rich. You have cats? Do you like dogs? My dad just moved in with his girlfriend, but don't tell anyone, okay? Promise? Promise?

This kid about killed me. He slept for a little bit but then was awake and talking. He did make the flight go faster.

My Mom is Cool

Why? Because she is. I know it's not Mother's Day yet, but who cares. My mom is cool. She always has been. She's funny. She puts up with my brother and I. And our odd sense of humor. And our almost constant harassment of her. She's even learning to give it back.

She has always been there for me and my brother and anyone else who needed her. My friends always thought my mom was the coolest--because she was. They were jealous of me and my mom because my mom let me do things their moms wouldn't. My high school friends would come over and spend more time talking to my mom than me.

When things went wrong, and I mean terribly wrong, she was always there for me. In 1991 one of my best friends died. A few days after my friend died, my mom called and asked if I wanted her to come see me. Oh, god yes. She drove eight hours to spend two days with me and my friends. I refused to leave my friends' apartment--we were all going through this together. So my mom showed up with pots, pans, food, and everything else needed to take care of a bunch of college kids dealing with one of the first major crises of their lives. She bought us chocolate and beer and food. She cooked. She talked. She took care of us. And me. Why? Because she's my mom and that is what moms do--at least that is what my mom does.

My mom is eccentric. She told me years ago I had to stop telling people she was crazy because she thought they might believe she actually was crazy. She is a little crazy (but in a fun way). She's getting a tattoo of Bill the Cat at the end of the summer. She drives an orange 1974 Volkswagen Super Beetle. And a Subaru with coffee stains on the passenger side floor. She has a house full of knick knacks and crap. And animal hair. Just like me. She is creative. She is funny. She is my mom and she's awesome.

One year she sent me a Mother's Day card because without me (and my brother) she would never have been a mom.

And you know why else she is cool?

Because this is what she got me for my birthday (you didn't think this was going to only be about my mom did you?):

It's a USB turntable so I can convert my albums to Mp3s. I don't have a ton of albums, but I have enough that were never released on CD. Like this:


And believe me, this will be the first LP I will convert to MP3s, followed by the first to Iowa Compilations--two of my favorite albums, ever. (Too bad it will have to wait a few weeks since I have some traveling to do, of course it would be nice to be able to listen to this album on my iPod on the way to Philadelphia next week). Don't get me wrong, I love vinyl. I love the click and the pop. But vinyl isn't portable.

Yessiree bob, my mom is cool She is cool because of all the reasons I mentioned above--and I meant every single one of them. But she is also cool because when I send her links to things like this and say, "Hey, this is what I want for my birthday," she doesn't blink an eye. And then when she talks about my birthday present she tells me things like, "I'm not sure I'll get it finished in time." Why? Because she lives off tricking people about presents. And then when I try not to pout (or even when I do pout) she laughs her ass off when she gives me the present I wanted. Because she wants to see me happy. Why? Because that's what moms do. At least that is what my mom does.

And my mom is cool.

And I love her, too.

Portland, Oregon and sloe gin fizz

If that ain't love then tell me what is
Uh huh

--Loretta Lynn, "Portland, Oregon," Van Lear Rose


Happy, happy birthday to me
Happy birthday to me
And to you

--Cracker, "Happy Birthday to Me," Cracker

My birthday was yesterday, actually.


The last three days have been a whirlwind. Flew out of Memphis Tuesday but not the way I expected. Ended up on another airline going through another city and getting to my destination earlier than expected--which was nice. I flew over a lot of mountains. I sat next to a very polite, very petite Italian man who said "exuse" (in that way Italians say "exuse") every time I bumped into him. Because see, I was in the very front row which means I was in one of those really narrow seats with the solid sides. The only person able to be comfortable in a seat that narrow would be a ten-year old boy. Or a petite Italian man.

And by the time I made it to my final destination I was exhausted. I mean completely exhausted. But I did have enough energy to make my way to a Lebanese restaurant where I was reminded that I do in fact like baba ganoush. It was silky, smooth, flavorful, and lovely. Take that Volta Taverna. Baba ganoush is not supposed to be slimy and gross. As I made my way back to my hotel on the streetcar, I stood next to a man that smelled like urine. But after wandering a few blocks of what is becoming one of my favorite cities, seeing nifty, healthy, normal-looking people (not dangerously skinny look-a-likes wearing party dresses and heels--or pink sweats and flipflops), standing next to a man that smelled like urine and next to another man who was giving me unsolicited advice on where to get good pizza, while two little punk 20-somethings with lip rings talked to some other dude, I was reminded why Portland is becoming one of my favorite cities.

Crazy trip, I tell ya. Lots going on. Rain, hail, thunder (hail and thunder are unusual in Portland, or so I was told). I have a big, gross blister on my toe. It's so gross I won't even begin to explain just how gross it is.

Made my way back via Chicago (I could quote Wilco right now, but I won't). It was a long, boring flight. I sat in the exit row. Those rows are so deep I could put the bottom of my foot on the back of the seat in front of me. Two and a half long hours in O'Hare. I had flashbacks to when I was interviewing while I was in library school. I turned the corner to terminal G, and I was hit with this overwhelming feeling of deja vu. All of a sudden it was four years ago, and I was just beginning my job search. When I flew through Chicago, that is the terminal I went through. Actually, the last time I went through that terminal was when I returned from the interview for my current job.

Memphis was nasty and rainy and crappy. The woman at the hotel where I had left my car hung up on me. I told her I was in terminal C. "Which airline," she asked. "American," I said, "In terminal C." "We have to pick you up by airline," *click* So much for the so-called southern hospitality. So, I went outside, saw that American was listed as being in terminal C and waited. And the driver stopped at terminal B--just like last time. I guess the signage saying "Terminal C" with "American" right below it doesn't matter.

The drive home was nastier and rainier and crappier. Plus lightning. I got out of my car and was hit with that southern humidity you feel before a storm and mumbled, "ah, fuck..."

And you know what? I get to do this all over again next week. But this time it's on the other side of the country.

On another note, I don't think I am getting all of my mail. Actually, know I am not getting all of my mail. There have been a few things that were sent to me that I should've received by now and haven't. *sigh* Sometimes I come back here, even after a quick trip where I barely had time to breath, and I think, "Why do I live here?"