This is the first time I’ve left my house in two days. I’m at the coffeehouse, pondering a second Americano to go, as today I return to being a responsible adult. And by responsible I mean, I’m picking up my kid and returning to that wife/mother business. Not as in “Who’s responsible for this travesty?”
I really should be on the road, as I’m driving all the way to Columbia, and I’d like to hit the yarn shop before I meet with my parents and Clara Jane forces me to ride the merry-go-round and vomit a lot of espresso.
My parking meter has expired. I’ve been cut off from the library because I owe fines in excess of their $2.00 limit. Yep, definitely time to behave like a 35-year-old for a bit.
I’ve obviously gotten off-track with NaBloPoMo. The thing about it is, sometimes I’d prefer to live some life instead of gazing at my navel about finding words to describe the experience.
Last night my pal Julie and I went to see The Apples in Stereo to celebrate her birthday, and much fun was had. Good opening acts, too, for once: Big Fish from Lexington, Kentucky, and The Poison Control Center of Ames, Iowa.
Despite the fun and bouncing and good time and good company, I would like to register a complaint. Nay, a lesson in etiquette to concert-goers. I guess having made amends with the last concert-goers I pissed off with my complaints, it’s time to alienate an all-new batch of folks.
- It’s kind of okay if you push your way to the stage because you’re really excited about the music and want to connect with the artists and the tunes. It’s another entirely if you push your way to the stage so you can talk, text, or make trip after trip and trip to the bar.
- Do not pretend the people are around you are invisible. If you do this, be prepared for that person to pretend you are invisible. If that means stomping on your strappy-sandaled feet with my One Stars, well, I didn’t see you there. Just like you didn’t see me. Right?
- If you are a member of one of the opening acts. Say, The Poison Control Center from Ames, Iowa, I understand that perhaps you’re not in a position to hire someone to inform you how to act right, particularly when it comes to winning fans and selling CDs. Let me give you some free advice: don’t fucking pretend a member of the audience who thoroughly enjoyed your set isn’t there when you shove her out of the way to make your way to the front of the stage to chat up the chick who will have bruised feet before the night is through. I understand that perhaps the two free beers from the venue and the pussy may, indeed, got you dizzay. However, that’s not an excuse for being shitty to the people who could perhaps help your career proceed. Those of us who buy a lot of music and go to a hell of a lot of shows. Can’t say your band is one I care to see again, after having seen the back of the lead singer’s head through a portion of the act I paid to see.
Read the rest of this entry
I’m at a coffeehouse in Clarksville, Tennessee, that appears to be of the fundamentalist Christian variety. I’m waiting to receive a massive electrical shock the first time I type the word “fuck” on their Wifi.
Hey. Didn’t happen. I’m slightly disappointed.
I should be driving to get back to St. Louis right now, since I’ve only made it an hour past Nashville. I needed to stop and get my head in order, though. The past few days have been such a whirlwind of crazy fun that thinking about it was starting to affect my driving ability. So I figured I’d get it out of my system while getting a coffee and some soul-saving, apparently.
Tuesday night – My friend Maggie arrived from upstate New York. She’s an English professor, and she’s spending her summer vacation trying to catch as many Nels Cline Singers shows as humanly possible. I coerced her into driving 14 hours to come with Brian and me to see them in Columbia, Missouri.
Wednesday – Columbia. Deposited child with my parents. Went to the show at one of my favorite clubs. A whopping 37 people showed up. Still, the band played like they were at a huge jazz festival. Mind-blowing. Noisy. Incredible. After the show, while Maggie was being admonished by Nels for buying a ticket instead of letting them put her on The List, I encountered someone I’d had a spat with on the Wilco geek board regarding her behavior at one of the St. Louis shows. It’s in the blog archives if you care to dig it up. I don’t, because it’s water under … something. She recognized me, apologized, I think I apologized, and then we proceeded to talk for so long that I eventually lost my voice. Which is probably why Maggie coerced me into going to Nashville with me. Because a road trip with me when I can’t talk is actually bearable.
Read the rest of this entry
The Nels Cline Singers show in Columbia tonight? Amazing and fantastic. How much so? Tomorrow I’m going to Nashville to see them. Perhaps I’ll tell you about it later. Maybe. If you’re interested.
It’s still Tuesday to me, as I’m still in my clothes.
Last time I did NaBloPoMo, on day fifteen The Cuz and I went to my favorite bar. Tonight, my friend Maggie and I went to the same bar. Now, lest you think I’m a barfly, I don’t get to go to my favorite bar very often. Nothing’s changed. The cooler’s still dead and they’re serving beer out of picnic coolers. Fine with me. Because when you’ve got an evening with a friend who’s driven 14 hours to hang out and go to a concert, bottles of PBR from a picnic cooler, a jukebox loaded with classic Stones, a mutt named Ruby, and a bunch of good ol’ boys watching “Sex and the City” you know you’re going to have a great time.
Tomorrow night, we stalk guitar gods.
That’s right. I updated the foodie blog! Food and canning were the only things I had to write about, and I felt guilty writing about them here when there hasn’t been an update in nearly two months over there. I figure since I’m on a two-week roll here, I should spread the love.
Clara Jane seems to be mostly over being sick. No puke in well over 24 hours! We ventured out briefly today for a cheese quesadilla. She had two bites and was ready to go home, which was fine. I’m glad I didn’t let her talk me into going to the Niki exhibit at the Missouri Botanical Gardens. She tried, but I pulled mom rank and told her it was too hot and too soon after she’d been sick. Thing is, she was trying to talk me into taking her to something she knows nothing about. Oh, we’ll go, once everyone’s healthy and it’s not 200 degrees outside. Of course, the Missouri Botanical Gardens will probably be purchased by foreign interests by then.
What ails Clara Jane? Her stomach. She woke up at 6:30 AM, which is unlike her. She was in a good mood and content to return to her room and loudly read I Will Never Not Ever Eat a Tomato
to herself. Or, rather, to the entire house. I had earplugs so it didn’t matter much. It would have been cute and thrilling, hearing her taking on the voice I use for Lola while extolling about orange twiglets from Jupiter*, were it not so early in the morning.
A few hours later, Brian informed me that Clara Jane had puked up the orange twiglets from Jupiter she had before bed.
She’s fine, but had a blah, sicky kind of day. There were several more vomiting spells, but it’s been quite a few hours since the last incident. She’s managed to hold down a purple popsicle, some milk, two bites of rice, and three wheat crackers. She has also taken to crying at, well, everything. But she took two naps today, and was in bed shortly after 8 PM. I hope we’ve seen the last of the orange twiglets from Jupiter on repeat.
Read the rest of this entry
I used all of today’s motivation to clean the master bathroom from top to bottom. I learned that with vinegar and baking soda, anything is possible. I’ve had respiratory reactions to cleaning chemicals for years, ever since developing a case of chemical pneumonia from working with industrial cleaning chemicals. Being the greeny geek, I’ve been doing some reading about alternatives to commercial cleaning supplies. I must say, my bathroom is all sparkly and awesome.
We all slept late today. Some of us (me) later than others. When I awoke, Clara Jane was making a surprise cup of coffee for me (with assistance). Brian surprised me by installing my kitchen air conditioner. Finally! Apparently the delivery service left it on the front porch yesterday and we didn’t notice.
Third surprise of the day – my darling husband ordered an under-the-counter kitchen sound system for my iPod! Between the new music means and the air conditioner, tomorrow, I shall pickle. Beets and zucchini await.
Read the rest of this entry
Ah man, do I have to blog today? I don’t wanna.
I’m sure I can come up with something to write, but I don’t wanna.
Perhaps I would be a bit more motivated if all you people who are reading would comment, already. Just an idea.
After the past two days of non-existent frog hats and butt-sniffing requests, everything pales.
Sinus headache all day. Too hot. I’d prefer to spend July and August in a cave by myself but I don’t see that happening.
This is essentially a post with dots without the dots, you know.
Brian did something he never does – he’s at a movie with friends right now. I’m actually happy about this. Clara Jane’s asleep, so I essentially have the house to myself. That rarely happens, but the thing is, when you’re 35, being home alone is still as awesome as it was at 14, but for much different reasons. While I feel like I should be dancing in my underwear, I’d prefer to go to bed. Instead, I’m going to shuffle upstairs for some ice cream and continue knitting. Next week’s going to contain rock star insanity so I need to relish the quiet while I can.
Read the rest of this entry
