Misadventures in Portland

Feeling Foolish in Snow Pants

2012-01-23T19:31:00.000-05:00

If you're one of the few non-Portland/non-Maine residents reading this blog, let me tell you, it's been unbelievably cold. It was 6 degrees this morning when I woke up. Then I looked at weather.com, and they said, "Feels like -9." I showed my roommate and she was like, "No fucking way! Not even Celcius! What- what does that even feel like??" So when I say it was unbelievably cold, I'm not talking about an unbelievably hot guy or unbelievably funny joke, using unbelievable as a means of exaggeration. No. We actually had a difficult time believing it felt like -9.

When preparing to leave the house I realized, this is not the time to be screwing around. The problem is that I don't have a car and I work(ed) at a fancy boutique downtown. So I can't saunter in looking like a red-faced, drippy-nosed Inuit. I have to look poised- like I wouldn't bat an eyelash at someone spending the equivalent of a month's rent on a sweater that isn't even cashmere; like I couldn't care less that it was incredibly cold outside.

Here's what I wore there:

The boutique: Cardigan, vintage (??). Blouse, L.L. Bean Signature (one of the fanciest shirts I own). Black skirt, vintage from Dress for Success Southern Maine sample sale. Navy tights, Good Cause Thrift Store. Black flats, Aldo.

This is what I wore home:

The "Fuck Winter" look: Jacket, Target. Same sweater I wear every day, courtesy of Kate Digby Skinner's ex-boyfriend, T-shirt I wear all the time, courtesy one of Mandy Wheeler's former lovers, Black scarf, Angela Pizzo's "Free" pile, Snow pants, Columbia via Salvation Army, Boots, L.L. Bean via Goodwill. Hat and mittens not pictured. I try hard to not look homeless when I bundle up, but sometimes I just don't know if that's possible.

I went on to wear this outfit to visit Bridget at the monthly Ceili at RiRa. It was the most well-attended dances that I'd been to, which means a plethora of children screaming and running around (that's not an exaggeration.) There's a chance I might've caused two of them to fall over, but it wasn't my fault- my bulk and bundles of winter gear had an adverse effect on my peripheral vision. I sat at the bar with my snow pants on. Even though I felt a tiny bit foolish, I gotta tell you: I was warm.

Continuing on the theme of feeling foolish, when I walk around in these pants, they make a loud swishing sound. I recorded a bit, to entice my readers with a bit of multi-media t. But because I wasn't paying careful attention to the sidewalk as I was recording, I slid and almost ate it. There was a break in the rhythm of the recording walking whsssh whck whsssh whck SILENCE, but the quality wasn't great and I accidentally deleted it.

So, if you are a person who doesn't do anything outdoors other than walking around and geting cold, I still suggest getting a pair of snow pants just in case.

PS- as I am writing this about the evening in question, which happened last week, we're getting forecasts for over 40 degrees.

PPS- I crashed at the barn for the first time in way too long. When we woke up, this was the temperature:

Seriously?! It's like you're photoshopped!

2011 in iPhone pictures

2012-01-14T22:12:00.001-05:00

A nice lady I know who blogs at Sweet William made a post, "2011 in iPhone pictures."

I thought it was a great idea, so here are mine.

Overall, 2011 wasn't terrible. No complaints. That's mostly thanks to Cleveland, my normal, functional, loving boyfriend and my extremely large workload, which keeps me out of trouble. The only things missing were a new high bowling score and ANY KARAOKE AT ALL. Seriously, I don't think I karaoke once in 2011. Wait, does that count as trouble? Where has the time gone?

In 2012, you can look forward to more pictures! Seriously, I finally upgraded to the iPhone 4 and these pics are sweeeeet!

Music Scene: Kino Proby at Empire 12/30/11

2011-12-31T00:37:00.001-05:00

Today began leaving the Bilmar Beach Resort in Treasure Island, Florida (3/5 stars) to drive an hour to the Manatee Viewing Center at Tampa Electric (seriously, if you like manatees half as much as Hannah Morrish, you need to go to there. I saw dozens of manatees.) Then it took almost an hour to get to the airport. At the Tampa International Airport, if you're every flying jetBlue, make sure you stop at the Tequilaria and try the Spicy Mango Margarita. Much like the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears, it was just right. Cleveland and I waited two hours, took a two and a half hour flight to Boston, waited an hour, then took a two hour bus to Portland. It was the kind of travelling day that makes you want to get straight in bed when you get home, regardless of the appropriateness of the hour.

Instead, I decided to go see Kino Proby at Empire. Kino Proby plays once a year, if we're lucky and much like the Ice Bar at the Portland Harbor Hotel, I'd been meaning to go for years. One member lives in Russia, one in LA, so it's quite an occasion. None of my friends were available; Cleveland was going to bed, Roommate #1 was out of town, Roommate #2 was actually vomiting when I crossed the threshold into the apartment after being in Florida for six days, Mandy was tired and it was too late/short notice to call anyone else. So I went alone.

Here are my tweets from the evening:

Upstairs at Empire, the first people I see are the Food Coma TV crew and half the staff of CIEE. One of the members of Kino Proby saying something in Russian, then in English asked how many people in the room understood him. About half. I approached the bar, intending to dutifully drink a bunch of vodka. There were 10 Russian/Eastern European men ahead of me, half of them wearing leather bomber jackets and the other half with gel in their hair. Once the crowd parted, I realized one of them ordered about 15 shots of Jager. That same guy saw I was waiting and offered me a shot. Holy shit, the shots were ordered with no designated recipients.

Instead of a play by play of the entire evening, here are some quotes:

"Kino Proby is like the U2 of Russia." (Then in my notes I wrote, Kino Proby : Russia :: U2 : Everywhere other than Russia. Yup, I took notes.)

"I know your name, Alex Steed. I wanted to let you know that I'm not scared of you. Two years ago, at this show, I was crazy dancing in the front. I looked up and your face was like, right there- and you were dancing right next to me. It freaked me out. But now I'm not freaked out anymore and I wanted to let you know."

"Russia or Lewiston?"

"That guy is like Michael Jackson meets Marty McFly." Red and black shiny bubble vest, gelled hair, bright white sneakers.

"What's the sexual mood in the room?" "I don't know. But I've accidentally made eye contact with like, ten Russian men. They are like sharks."

"Shot glasses are going down like bullets."

"Out of RedBull!"

"I don't want my fingers cut off with cigar trimmers."*

Kino Proby Live At PCMH Portland, ME from [dog]and[pony] on Vimeo.

It was a great night, and I wish you were all there.

Lastly, a PSA (and I've been meaning to say this for a while). Portland cab drivers: if your light is on, it means you are available for service. If your light is off, it means you are not available for service. If there are people in your car, getting a ride, turn the light off. This will signal to other potential customers that you are nor available.

*There was an incredibly intoxicated woman all over Joe, Andrew and Alex. She kind of looked like Maybe from Arrested Development, but without freckles. Alex called her the Drunk Manic Pixie Dream Girl, or something, but I decided after her very unamused boyfriend/not boyfriend came over and didn't say one word while administering a flawless death stare, she was actually Manic Pixie Nightmare Girl. Maybe it's because Russian is always villified in the movies, but this guy did actually look like he might have been capable of something like cutting fingers off. Disclaimer: I think all people were created equally and I try to not perpetuate stereotypes. Russia is very intriguing and someday I want to go to there.

Blogging for Good: Dress for Success Southern Maine

2011-12-22T22:40:00.000-05:00

This week, Corey Templeton of Portland Daily Photo asked a handful of Portland bloggers to take some time out of their busy blogging/holiday schedules and acknowledge a not for profit organization worthy of their attention (and dollars?).

I could talk about SPACE Gallery, the Telling Room or public radio (some of my favorites and heavy hitters in town), but I know there is an organization that needs my recognition even more: Dress for Success Southern Maine.

The mission of Dress for Success is to help disadvantaged women re-enter the workforce.

Picture this: you are interviewing candidates for a position at your awesome company. Someone comes in dishevelment, anxious, and then you found out that she just got out of rehab. Or has been out of the workforce because she's been on welfare and couldn't afford childcare for her kids and work. Or, she was in prison.

Now picture a confident looking woman who comes in, dressed in appropriate interview attire and of her gap in employment says, "I was out of work for a little while dealing with some personal issues, but I'm focused and ready to get serious about my career. I want to work for your company." That's their goal. They work with women to help them get the confidence they need to succeed in life. It starts with women looking themselves in the mirror, dressed for success. Since their inception, Dress for Success Southern Maine has suited over 1,000 women.

I have some first-hand experience with the subject matter. My sister is a struggling, single mom. I've been on food stamps since I lost my full-time job last year. Disclaimer, I interned there this fall. However, my internship is technically over and I'm still volunteering because I believe in what we're doing. Sometimes when I update the testimonials on the website, I get a little teary-eyed. I mean, I'm overly emotional. Just read some of these:

“I found your place to be incredibly wonderful! Everyone there was sensitive and respectful -- fun, helpful suggestions, laughter making the experience such a positive one! I have felt so much more confident knowing I had a beautiful new and modern outfit. Thank you for your help. It is SUCH an encouraging and confidence boosting place.” "Thank you so much for helping me. From the time I arrived, it was a great experience and I walked out feeling better about myself. The people at Dress for Success Southern Maine are so helpful and kind. Thank you.”

“When I’m in a suit I feel like I’m getting there. I might not be there yet, but I’m well on my way.”

"Women in active addiction lose so much. When they arrive in treatment with Crossroads, they are addressing many crucial areas of their lives all at once; their addiction, their mental health issues, health problems, family and childcare problems, legal issues and all with limited economic resources. More importantly is the loss of confidence, dignity and hope. Dress for Success Southern Maine gives the women an opportunity to present themselves at interviews in a way that inspires hope, dignity and confidence. And the kind support that they receive when they go for their "personal shopping" appointment helps them feel a part of the greater community again - or for some, the first time."

Teresa Valliere, Director of Inpatient Services, Crossroads for Women

Collecting and sorting donations, maintaining the organization of the boutique, managing volunteers to be personal shoppers for the clients, planning fundraising events and professional women support groups- these things all take time and money. Donate to Dress for Success Southern Maine here. Learn more about volunteer opportunities here.

My Promos!

2011-12-18T22:14:00.002-05:00

I've also been laboring away in the production room at WMPG all semester. Our assignments included making a 45 minute DJ demo, and a 15 minute talk show demo. This might be a little bit confusing, but here are the promos that I made for the demos that I recorded. They are far from perfect, but feature music and shoutouts to some local bands. Sometimes when you're working on a project, be it a painting, an essay, a 50k word novel or a one minute radio promo, you need to stop tweaking and let it go.

Posting audio is something I'd like to do more often, but there have been a lack of recording opportunities lately. Oh right, and my iPhone 3 is so slow it might as well be dialing up to get the internet. (I might upgrade soon, I might downgrade... trying to prioritize wants vs. needs.)

The Mixtape Collective, my pretend show from 5-7 Saturdays on WMPG

The Student Standpoint, an actual podcast at iTunes U.

Since I been goooooone

2011-12-11T23:41:00.001-05:00

You know those unbelievably annoying Geico commercials that are always on Hulu? No? There's one that starts, "Did you know Geico could save you twenty percent on car insurance? Have you been living under a rock?" and then a guy who has actually been living under a rock comes out, sees the billboard and goes, "No way!"

I've kind of been that guy.

As of right now, this moment, I have three, count 'em THREE jobs, an internship and a few days of completing a fifteen credit semester. I'm wiped. out! OH WAIT! There were also three stupid weeks in November in which I tried to participate in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo for those of you who are 'with it'.) After only 30,000 words, I decided to focus on the work I was actually being graded on. (Writing will resume after my last class this Wednesday). After all that, I barely had the mental capacity for Hart of Dixie, let alone more sophisticated comedies like Community or the Office.

I was planning on doing a redesign complete with a FAQ page and some other stuff for my first post after this elongated, unintentional hiatus. But as I was trying to will myself to sleep so I can make it into the office at 9 a.m., I realized that if I was going to be losing sleep because of things I haven't done, I should stay up and do stuff.

There's good news, though. Soon, I'll be back with a few posts about non-profit management, the Big Lebowski, a woman who went crazy on LinkedIn, and maybe a few other things.

In the meantime, I have a few things to share:

1) I made a professional portfolio website for myself: amandapleauwrites.com. I got an A. There's also a pronunciation guide to my last name, in case you had it wrong all these years and want to feel bad about it.

2) I'm contributing to Get Vintaged, a website some classmates and I put together for our Senior Seminar. This is a promotional video we put together that I sound kind of weird in. But I also wrote some of the shop profiles and a blog.

GetVintaged.com Promo from CMS Videos on Vimeo.

3) I've been blogging over at dressforsuccesssouthernmaine.blogspot.com

4) I'm looking forward to a trip to Florida in a few weeks to meet half of Cleveland's family!! Pop-pop!

What's up with you? Any book/music recommendations? Year-end wrap up lists I should know of?

Two Princes

2011-10-18T19:25:00.003-04:00

If my cat Baby was able to like, type, she'd dedicate this song to all of you in honor of the Spin Doctors playing at Port City Music Hall tonight.

"If you want to call me Baby, just go ahead now..."

I ride the Greyhound Bus

2011-10-11T08:40:00.001-04:00

I'm on a Greyhound bus right now.

Let me tell you. If you didn't already know, avoid taking the Greyhound bus at all costs (and it's not because that one time some guy shot himself in the head.)

Two nights ago I tried to purchase my ticket online. Portland to Lewiston same-day round trip. But the website told me that I couldn't get a ticket for that schedule online, that I should modify my search. There are like, three buses a day that go to Lewiston, so that wasn't an option. Defeated, I decided to try again the next day.

Last night, I again failed at purchasing the ticket online, so I figured I'd call the number provided to try and get a ticket that way. Fifteen minutes and several attempts navigating the dial by number menu, I finally reached someone. Nope. TEN DOLLAR unadvertised service fee for purchasing tickets over the phone. So I asked Juanita or whatever if she could explain why tickets weren't available online. She connected me with web support, who tried to sell me the ticket over the phone and didn't mention the service fee until I brought it up. THANKS FOR NOTHING, WEB SUPPORT! Then he offered to try and buy the ticket online for me.

So this morning, I roll out of bed, bright and early, and even manage to form coherent sentences before 7:30 at the coffeeshop. I make it to the Greyhound station, where I'm supposed to be buying my ticket, and it's locked. The bus is coming in 15 mins and there's a small crowd of poor, pathetic Greyhound losers with hodgepodge luggage and fucked up teeth. I decide I will fight them all for a ticket, if need be. My gigantic laptop computer will act as a shield against their blows.

The bus pulls in and we're told that the reason the terminal isn't open is because there is no power. What? Uh. The biggest hospital in the state is pretty much next door and I'm almost positive I saw lights on in the convenience store across the street. The driver, Mr. Moore, tells us that if we don't have a ticket, we can get on if we surrender a form of id, which will be returned to us in exchange for a ticket. While other simpletons struggle with the concept of not having a ticket but allowed on anyway, I wonder if replacing my State ID is less than a one-way ticket...

A broad-shouldered black man with a deep voice and a doo rag has been sitting behind me the whole time. He's been on the phone with his baby mamma or something since 8:00. They're just chatting now, but when he got on the bus he said, defiantly, "I ain't gunna ride dis fuggin bus no more. Das it." Though I don't really understand who the eff is up at 8 a.m. to have a 30 min chit chat over the phone, I couldn't have put it better myself.

(I hope this post doesn't offend anyone except Greyhound. I am SO GRUMPY and I am in dire need of ANOTHER COFFEE AND A TISSUE. And really, I'm not so different than these people. My mom should probably buy me breakfast.)

Grand Falls Hut

2011-10-04T17:45:00.000-04:00

A few days ago I went on a little adventure with the Nature Conservancy and Maine Huts and Trails.

Cleveland drove and it was raining the whole way there. A lot. He frowned and sighed for the majority of the three hour car ride, but for some reason I wouldn't budge. I kept saying things like, "It won't be that bad! Think of this as a challenge, like we're going to feel amazing afterwards. And we're going to be so relieved to get warm in that hut and sit by the fire and drink hot cocoa! We'll only be soaking wet for a few hours!"

WTF was I thinking? I'm still not entirely sure. He even confessed considering offering an alternative plan, like hiding away in a hotel with a hot tub somewhere just to not do it.

It was nice, being at the hut, getting warm, and it actually felt like we earned that Jumbalya with the fruits of our labor... surrounded by hardcore ski/outdoor people who were debating which remote Maine roads were washed out by Hurricane Irene between the Forks, Sugarloaf and Saddleback.

This is a Polyvore set that I made roughly outlining my outfit. Note: my shirt wasn't yellow, it was black and white.

This is what our companions were wearing, with the exception of possibly Maggie, who kept her Ponomo earrings on the whole time.

Just kidding. That's from the Patagonia website.

Here's the hut:

mainehuts.org

A friend recently told me that I'm outdoorsy now. I said that I didn't have the right gear to be outdoorsy. Seriously. Do you have any idea how much Gortex costs? At one point, when we were packing, Cleveland pulled a hat out of his closet. I said that he should bring the hat, he said he didn't particularly like the hat, thought that it looked sort of stupid. I'll tell you. We both looked sort of stupid in Cleveland's grandfather's beautiful wooden canoe, with our piecemeal outdoor gear (anything not cotton). But that stupid hat definitely kept his head warm and dry.

One of of the other women on the trip, a fundraiser, also paddled to the hut (as opposed to hiked.) Her and her husband run an adventure/coffee business non-profit business and is currently looking for takers on a Costa Rica trip: part sustainable coffee tour, part white water rafting/adventure. She asked me how our paddle was (they literally paddled six miles an hour downstream. That's a lot.) Cleveland and I are new to paddling together- I'm inexperienced at steering, and he's not terribly experienced in a canoe, though in his defense he's done more kayaking and rafting than I have. But we somehow found our groove and we made decent time. Adventure woman seemed genuinely happy for us, then remarked, "They don't call them divorce boats for nothing."

At the end of the second day, my muscles were definitely aching. We paddled 12 miles and hiked about 5. Grand Falls lived up to it's name, and I'm excited to visit Maine Huts and Trails again... when it's sunny. Maybe this winter?

image c.o rangeleysnomobile.com

Joseph Gordon-Levitt does Axl does Gaga

2011-09-28T22:51:00.001-04:00

Haven't done a real post in a long time, but until the epic post I finish is ready, here's a GEM of a karaoke video. We've all known for a while that Jimmy Fallon does amazing impressions, but Joseph Gordon-Levitt doing Axl Rose?? This might be the all-time greatest TV karaoke moment.

A League of Their Own

2011-08-21T12:01:00.000-04:00

(I'm the green.)

Midcoast Weekend Pt. 1

2011-08-18T16:17:00.001-04:00

Cleveland and I stayed in Boothbay Harbor this weekend. Here are some highlights. Lowlights to come.

1.       The berries. We were hiking (ahem, walking) in the La Verna Nature Preserve in Bristol, ME, contemplating the many reasons Dirty Dancing should NOT be remade (more on that to come). He was burdened with the very serious task of looking out for poison ivy. I can never remember what it looks like- I always think it should be redder and more poisonous-looking. While scouring the underbrush, he found some blackberries. “Hey Amanda! Check this out!” So I ate one…and then like Mandy when she goes to Forever 21- I got the crazy eye. It’s like I had one mission and one mission only. To find! More! Berries! He could have left me on the trail and I probably would’ve been so caught up in my foraging that I wouldn’t have noticed. I could have sustained myself out there for days! Weeks!! It was so badass. I started trying to remember whether Survivor is still on the air... Feeding yourself with berries from the woods is so cool.

Here's a map. What's not pictured is the contemplation point:

2.       Cleveland’s family was visiting a few weeks ago, and they had to cancel the kayak trip they were going to take. They left him with the voucher. So we went kayaking! Our guide, Damon was a typical river guide, super chill, really knowledgeable. He even explained the dreaded headwind that I always seem to be paddling against whenever I try to paddle in the afternoon. Attean Pond, I’m looking at you! I’m happy to say that according to Damon, I’m “a natural” at kayaking and excited to check ‘palindrome boating activity’ off of my bucket list.

(no pictures, we were too busy paddlin' for our souls.)

3.       When Cleveland’s family was visiting, they also took a Hardy Boat to Monhegan Island. Every time the Hardy Boat makes a trip, they ask their passengers to fill out a comment card about their trip, and enter those people into a drawing for a free Hardy Boat ride. They’ve really got the incentive part of survey-based research figured out. Anyway, Cleveland won a free trip! We decided to go on the Puffin cruise to Eastern Egg Island, the southern most Puffin breeding ground. Let me tell you, the cruise was awesome. We needed binoculars to see the birds, so the awesomeness stems from the narration by Dr. Stephen W. Kress from the National Audubon Society and the Project Puffin. There weren't too many birds, since the breeding season was nearly over, but we did see a few hanging out in the ocean.

Dr. Kress was so excited about the Puffins, floating near the boat he’d say, “Just look at the beautiful lighting on that bird. Oh. Just beautiful.” He said this like four times for every bird we saw. Which was maybe six. Or the same two birds three times. I don’t know. But I had no idea Puffins were so adorable. I happened to learn all kinds of interesting Puffin facts, so email me at amandajennifer at gmail dot com if you're interested in hearing a rant.


BABY PUFFIN!

And look at these guys!

4. Shaw's Fish & Lobster Wharf Restaurant. My friend’s dad thinks that no one should ever order lobster at a restaurant, and I sort of think he’s right. With the exception of places like Shaw’s, however, where you will actually see the boats bringing in the day’s catch next to the deck you’re eating on. The restaurant is on a wharf, hence ‘Wharf Restaurant,’ which I think sort of negates the idea that lobster is inappropriate to eat at a restaurant. I still felt like I was covered up to my elbows with salt water after eating it, but it was worth it. So fresh, so delicious.

There was also a bar we did not get a chance to hit, but look at this weird thing:

It says you need to be born in 1994 to drink at that bar. WTF! I'm no math wizard, the only reason I caught it was because I was born 10 years earlier and I am NOT 31!

2011-08-16T10:02:00.000-04:00

Text from my new roommate. Her bed hasn't arrived yet...

Rob Sheffield is Awesome

2011-08-02T15:01:00.000-04:00

I'm in the middle of reading and thoroughly enjoying Rob Sheffield's latest book, Talking to Girls about Duran Duran.

He just recounted running into a friend from high school a few years after graduation. They talked about Morrissey and baseball for hours, but never saw each other again.

I thought it was strange to spend an evening having so much fun with someone i didn't know so well, and not to hang out after that, because i was too young to know that adult life is full of accidents and interrupted moments and empty beds you climb into and don't climb out of.

Well said, Sheffield. Well said.

The Photo Essay and Steel Dragon

2011-07-27T21:06:00.001-04:00

As I just mentioned in the previous post, I have a crapload of work to do this month.

One thing I just finished is a photo essay, which I accidentally made into like, my diary. We presented in class today. Today, everyone seemed pleased that the class was finished. Although for the most part, it was one of the most engaging classes I've had at USM thusfar. It was only ten of us, and we met three times a week for over three hours a day. There was only one "token" traditional student in the class, everyone else was older, transferred or whatever and we all had our ridiculous life stories to share. Our discussions were lively, bordering on rowdy, and it's safe to say at least half of the class left today as better, more well-rounded students.

I found a site that would let me share the power point presentation that I made. The only reason I'm doing this is to juxtapose it with the presentation that happened right before mine. Malcolm's essay was more of a wham-bam movie about his life-long connection with Sebago Lake, including old family photos, history of the lake and history of his Armenian family. His presentation had the feel of a summer blockbuster movie trailer. My presentation actually killed the conversation when it was finished.

Here is the song accompanying Malcolm's presentation. You only have to listen for about a minute or two to get the gist.

And here's my sad, silent presentation. It helps if you click the full screen mode. The quality isn't great, but I'm no technology wizard. Here you go:

My Photo Essay

Fluff: It's What's for Dinner

2011-07-25T23:16:00.000-04:00

Here's one for all you foodies.

It's summer, a time for goofing off, hitting the pool, the beach. Drinking margaritas, mojitos, and other refreshing adult beverages brought to us frigid New England bitches* from warmer climates. Instead, I am trying really hard to graduate in May, and part of gittin' er done means two four week classes. While I'm working 20 hours a week at my work-study job, writing crazy letters to the editor, make it to the beach, and fulfill many wedding-related obligations. Oh, and the Bachelorette. I'm bummed Ames is gone, but I'm really starting to root for JP. What? She's from the County. Gotta keep it real.

Let me break it down for you. Each semester is 15 weeks. So taking one class during a four-week session is the roughly the equivalent of taking three. Taking two is like taking six, which is eighteen credits. A normal student takes between 12 and 15 credits. Over 18 is considered "an overload." That's what I'm doing now. During summer. But I guess it's technically finals week and I'm able to write this blog... so....

One time, I also found myself taking 15 credits and working a part time job. I was probably as poor then as I am now, though back then I was under 21 and still a non-drinker. At Montserrat College of Art, somehow, I didn't understand financial aid, credit hours, or the fact that I was moving away to go to college at a place that didn't have a fucking cafeteria. WTF, Montserrat? It was kind of insane, now that I think about it. Probably more work than I've ever done in my life. Drawing and painting homework has the propensity to take way, way longer than writing a paper or reading a book. Trust me. I've never stayed up until 3:00 a.m. because I felt like an essay wasn't done. Or because I wouldn't have the right light to finish the essay in the morning.

But because I'd never lived away from home and therefore had never really prepared any of my own meals, let alone gone shopping for them, my food became like, abstract art or something. Here's a recipe for something I ate all the time.

Prep time:
5 min
Ingredients:
2 slices Pepperidge Farm Cinnamon Swirl Raisin Bread
1/3 cucumber, peeled and sliced thin.
1 tbsp Marshmallow Fluff
1 slice cheddar cheese
Directions:
Carefully slather Fluff unto both slices of bread. Arrange cucumbers on one slice, cover with cheese, then the other slice. Firmly press the sandwich down with your clean hand, as Fluff and cucumbers are slippery. Enjoy!

I'm not kidding. Pepperidge Farm was like, a luxury that I didn't know I could afford myself. We bought local at my house, sort of. Country Kitchen all the way.

It's hard to say whether I could ingest this marvelous concoction today. I'll let you know if I decide to try.

*a genuine Southern gentleman said that to me once, about women here; instead of comforting him, I laughed and said it was true.

Tweet this!

2011-07-20T13:52:00.000-04:00

I'm not even sure how I started following this guy.

Boy Band Crushes

2011-07-18T14:28:00.000-04:00

I hate talking about dreams. I mean, I really hate it. Unless you can sum it up to two sentences, or somehow make it relevant to something tangible, seriously. Shut up about it.

I'm going to break that rule right now, sort of, in order to tell you that a few nights ago I dreamed that I was walking down the corridor of the Portland Jetport, which looked more like the atrium of a giant mall than an airport. I saw Justin Timberlake waiting in line in a small office. He was in disguise with a dark, curly afro wig. He winked at me.

Then I saw this: Reasons Why Boybands Were Better in the 90s via Hairpin, and remembered that dream. I realized that in the 90s, I always had a difficult time figuring out which member of N'Sync was actually the most attractive. That's because none of them were. Like a good wine, Timberlake got better with age and and some incredibly funny skits on Saturday Night Live.

(Don't hate- they were all over MTV, which was the center of my universe then. I didn't find out about the Velvet Underground or the Magnetic Fields until I was well into my 20s.)

I think I'm going to have some funny/awesome stories for you all soon, I promise. #pleasedonthate #iknowmyblogkindasucksnow #tthroughthebestoftimesthroughtheworstoftimes #throughnixonandthroughbush

Albert Maysles: Ladykiller

2011-07-07T20:29:00.001-04:00

For those of you who don't get the opportunity to spend a lot of time with me in real life, sometimes I'm incredibly sensitive. Like, cry at a Kleenex commercial sensitive. Mandy likes to point out the time Spirited Away left me almost hysterical, when a train didn't stop for the little girl, it just blew right by. It happens once in a while when I find something poinient or particularly moving, and these days if I start crying for no real reason, I just get excited because my contacts will last another hour. It just happened again, but this time it was a really touching, awesome story and I thought I might share.

I'm taking a full course load this summer, which means this summer is the opposite of last summer. Last summer was the beach, partying, eating out, lazing around, and this summer I'm inside almost all the time. Either in class, at my work study job, or doing computer-centric homework. Tonight, I'm listening to interviews with famed documentary filmmaker Albert Maysles for a research project.

Albert, currently

Albert (left), David (right) during the filming of Salesmen

Albert and his late brother David are responsible for Grey Gardens, Gimme Shelter, Muhammad and Larry, as well as one of the first feature documentaries Salesman, and like five films about Christo and Jeanne-Claude, who I love. I picked the Maysles out of a hat, and it was really lucky. Not only are the subjects of their films actually of interest to me (I met Muhammad Ali once, and I'm currently in the middle of Keith Richards's autobiography), but Albert seems like a really great role model, a stand up guy and he's from Boston. There is a website called Albert Maysles's Glasses, dedicated to how awesome his signature frames are (Barney's even issued a limited edition Albert Maysles's frame.) Here are two quotes from interviews I've been listening to from ViceTV and NPR:

“In this culture of ours which is supposed to be so open and so open-minded, I think that we have this protective instinct. If someone is going to open their hearts and minds to another person then they’re vulnerable. ‘Oh my god, oh my god they’re vulnerable! They’re going to get hurt.’ I think the healthiest thing you can do is share your thoughts with another person.”

“I’ve ended up with all of these films and over the years, they’ve all held up. There are so many things that documentaries can teach us.”

Anyway, he was talking about how Salesman, his first feature with his brother didn't get any deals or whatever, so they rented a movie theater in order to have a screening. This is in the 60s, there was no March of the Penguins, Bowling for Columbine or whatever, even before opening weekends were a thing. Documentaries didn't have a place yet. So after the film David and Albert, Al to his friends, were standing at the exit. Everyone was coming by to shake hands and congratulate them on such a fine job with the film. Al noticed there was one person, a woman lingering in the theater, the very last to leave. Then he noticed that she had been crying, a lot. THEN he was struck by how attractive she was... and that's how he met his wife. NO JOKE! She was moved to tears by how amazing his film was and then they got married.

Sometimes I wish my life was so simple.... actually, that means I'd probably be married to this guy.

I hope everyone is having a slightly more enjoyable, slightly less productive summer than I am.

A Brief Update

2011-06-30T09:43:00.000-04:00

I think we can all agree that sometimes it can be difficult to stay motivated in the summer. Personally, all I want to do is sit on the beach and drink a rum and Pina Colada flavored seltzer (the new WICKED Skinnie Girl cocktail. I know that's not how it's spelled but it's also trademarked the other way) Instead of doing that, however, I've been doing all sorts of things- like manning the phone at the Internships and Career Placement Office, dissecting mackerels in the Marine Biology lab that I'm retaking, and choosing to write about seeing the Decemberists for my Music Appreciation class, instead of an actual classical music ensemble like I was supposed to. There's a roommate switcheroo in the works, and I seem to find myself helping multiple friends mend their broken summer hearts (by singing Careless Whisper lyrics until I'm told to stop.) Yes, this summer is/will be decidedly more tame than the last few thanks to classroom obligations and more weddings than I expected. I'm happy for you all, really.

In other news, a recent meeting with my academic adviser sent my head spinning. I'm doing an internship this fall, I guess. At this moment, choosing an internship seems a little bit like deciding what the next five years of my life is going to be (or not be.) Do I choose an internship with a likely career path to follow? Or do I choose an internship that I'll more likely enjoy and have a less solid, um, path? The thought of going out and hitting the pavement, looking for a job is sounds totally crippling in lieu of the Bayside Bowl incident. But doing a job I don't love doesn't sound that appealing either.

Anyway, I thought I might do a quick roundup of some things that have been keeping me just distracted enough to get by.

I just went to the premiere of TV Show episodes 2 & 3. They don't seem to be online yet, but here's episode number one:

TV SHOW Episode 1 from Shoot Media on Vimeo.

Alec Baldwin's Twitter (@alecbaldwin). Here's an example from a few days ago. Read it from the bottom up:

Hello Giggles is a website partially founded by Zooey Deschanel. It's a bunch of awesome ladies writing about all kinds of awesome stuff, neatly organized by category. This post about nail polish got me hooked.

Occasionally looking at people's 'sets' and answering Style questions on Polyvore.com.

Dispatch Magazine has been pumping out information about music and film in Maine so fast I can barely read it.

The new season of Weeds just started, and the season of Treme is just ending.

Sending this recipe for a homemade Arnold Palmer to other awesome bloggers: Make one cup (8oz) of tea with two black tea bags and one tablespoon of honey. (I use honey from Urban Farm Fermentory, because I hear that local honey helps with allergies.) Let it cool while you brush your teeth/pack your lunch/get dressed/whatever. Add a cup of lemonade from the Santa Cruz/Newman's Own/premade or frozen lemonade already in your refrigerator. Then eight or so ice cubes, however many you need to cool this thing and fill your container.

Look at this great website: Creative Portland.

What've you been up to? What am I missing?

Best Furniture Ever

2011-06-15T09:18:00.002-04:00

Cleveland went abroad a little while ago, and this is a conversation we had when he first arrived (more or less):

Cleve: The hotel I'm staying at is "sustainable." The power comes from windmills and solar panels, and everything is set up to create less waste. What the website didn't mention is there are all these little signs all over the room and hotel that address you like the furniture is talking to you. For example the little table that I am typing on says this: "I am strong, smooth, and delicious: I'm made from recycled coffee cups. Which means I'm both kind to the planet and caffeinated. But please don't lick me. I'm already in a relationship with the chair."

We had a pretty good laugh, but I got worried when he repeated this one, the bathroom soap, which is in dispenser- like a public bathroom: "I last longer and love you better. Maybe you've flirted with those little bottles of hotel soap and shampoo? They soon run out on you. It is time that you had some personal care from a big reliable source. Baby, I can keep dispensing all through your stay and beyond."

Between being mistaken multiple times for a genuine European and his hotel room putting more effort into seducing him than I do, it was easy to wonder if he might never come back.

Rest assured, though reader- eventually he came home, and our reunion was full of smiles and hugs. I'll have to remember to get him one of these so he sticks out more:

So long, Facebook suckers.

2011-06-02T12:26:00.000-04:00

It's been a long couple of days.

You know how I mentioned something about a wedding I'm going to be in? Well, it's looking like 2011 is actually going to be the year of four weddings and a funeral. In the midst of everything, I decided to do something I'd been thinking of doing for a few months now... No, I didn't get another tattoo, go off birth control or dye my hair pink.

I deactivated my Facebook account. Many of my friends have done it, some temporary, some not. I told one such friend who'd left and come back and she said that it's something people do when they go through a breakup. For me, it was a different kind of ending which helped me put things into perspective. It's been about a week. Here are some things I miss:

Using Facebook like a community message board, i.e. who can help with this, who has this, what do I do about this, etc. It was pretty efficient.
Stalking people I don't know. I'll admit, I look up people all the time. People who write things, people who tweet things, friends of friends. Figuring out who knows who.
Immediate access to all of my pictures. I downloaded a gigantic file which supposedly contains all of my pictures and messages and stuff, but it's still sitting on my desktop, waiting to be organized.
Event invites. Not all of them, just the ones I actually sort of maybe wanted to go to.
And the jokes. Sometimes my friends can be really funny.
Oh, and the traffic, here to this blog. It wasn't totally huge, but people actually clicked on the links I posted... makes me feel loved.

Here's what I don't miss:

Random chats from people I didn't want to talk to/had nothing to say and were just bored.
Being constantly irritated. Someone complaining about mother's day, or having no one to go out with. I've always tried to be mindful of what I posted. Same with Twitter and this stupid thing- I want my posts to have some relevance, either help or humor or awesomeness... like, look at this awesome recipe I made! You should try it! I know that not everyone cares about the shoes I just bought or where I'm going or what I'm doing, but at least it's better than complaining. Actually, I guess I'm complaining right now, but I'm complaining about people complaining. At my old job, we used to talk about the negativity monster, and now a negative attitude can be contagious. It got so bad we even named him Negator.
All of the time I wasted reading people's comments, looking at their vacation photos, etc. Now that I'm on Twitter, a lot of people post the same things on their FB and their Twitter, so I was even getting a double dose. Turns out, I can live without hearing what my bartender is doing about her flat tire and that a friend in high school just got a pedicure. I'm now way ahead in the online classes I'm taking, and there's a lot more internet time for Funny or Die, Huffington Post- I've even started reading a handful of new blogs and I think I'm going to be starting a new, companion blog to Misadventures soon.
Relationship drama. Not that I had it, but it's like this.
Worrying about people tagging drunk/unflattering photos of me.

I can't say that this is a brief hiatus or a forever departure, but so far I'm sort of enjoying it. If I was still on FB, last night I would've posted about how smart I felt for figuring out I could get kitty litter shipped to my house for FREE by Amazon.comm, and that sleeping on clean sheets feels awesome.

See? Unnecessary.

Questions I ask Myself at the Gym

2011-05-27T10:03:00.000-04:00

For the most part, I'm completely silent at the gym, with the exception of a phone call or two here and there. These are some of the questions I ask myself over and over when I'm alone with my thoughts and an elliptical.

Does anyone care if I'm on the phone right now?

Will anyone notice/think I'm insane if I dance-run?

Does this sports bra make me look skinnier because it squashes my boobs, making my figure more of a column than an hourglass?

How long would it take paramedics to get here if I pass out? This place is a fucking maze.

Is is possible that these men aren't actually here to lift weights and are just hanging out?

If I fall off this thing, which would be worse: the shame, or the injury?

How much of a tuition increase would we need to get some TVs up in this bitch?

WHY does that man always make eye contact with me?

What kind of music does the trick here- GnR, Hercules and Love Affair, Cult Maze, Katy Perry?

Will I be reprimanded if I don't write my time on the white board? If I go over the 30 minute time limit?

Would my relationship be in danger in Cleveland happened to see how disgusting/ridiculous I look during/after my workout?

If none of the individual items in my locker smell, why is the collective smell so bad?

Do these sneakers suck?

Why can't the water pressure at my house be this good??

Raaaaaapture.

2011-05-20T16:13:00.002-04:00

Kevin inspired me with his own End of the World mix so much that I had to try my hand at one.

When composing the list, though, I decided to make it a narrative of someone about to experience the Rapture. Then I had to decide, was this person a sinner? Would this person be leaving any loved ones behind? There are probably about a zillion songs about being naughty or love lost, so I decided that my hypothetical person would be Catholic, well, me. Catholics can basically sin all they want, live with the nagging guilt, and as long as they apologize to God and ask for forgiveness, into Heaven it is.*

(*I'm sure the crazy Rapture zealots would probably argue this point, but this is pretty much how I was raised, so I'ma go for it. Plus it lends a bit of drama to the mix.)

Multiple songs off of Brenda's EP would've been appropriate to use, but their songs weren't on the playlist website. And a lot of the songs on George Harrison's All Things Must Pass would've been appropriate, too: My Sweet Lord, What Is Life, Awaiting On You All, Beware of Darkness, All Things Must Pass, Isn't it a Pity, Hear Me Lord, Out of the Blue.

Anyway, here is my Rapture Concept Album mix thing.

1. Glee Cast, "Friday." Cereal, buses, fun fun fun, Partyin' partyin' yeah. Sounds pretty much like my life, as-is.

2. George Harrison, "What Is Life." This is my existential crisis song, the realization that the Rapture might actually be coming, not knowing what will happen.

3. David Bowie, "Golden Years." Remember all of the awesome times. "Nights are warm and the days are young... Nothings gonna touch you in these golden years." Life has been great, whatever life is. I mean, that's what people say happens when you're faced with death- a flashback. This subtly danceable track also appears in A Knight's Tale. Heath Ledger, RIP.

4. George Michael, "Careless Whisper" Oh, wait a minute. I don't want to die. I don't want to never dance again, the way I danced with you. Cue saxophone.

5. Chicago, "Hard to Say I'm Sorry." God, It's me. I know I've been a little shit and I want to apologize for all of my wrongdoings, but seriously. I don't feel sorry and misbehaving has been really fun... What's that? Oh, yup, you're right. Father, forgive me for my sins. It has been approximately thirteen years since my last confession. I hope you're sitting in a comfortable pew because this going to take a long time.

6. Jeff Buckley, "Hallelujah." Token six-minute spiritual track.

7. The Kinks, "This Time Tomorrow." What's it going to be like? Death, heaven, afterlife? This is something I've always been scared to think about. The uncertainty of it all is just too much, it can be all-consuming. "I don't know where I'm going, or what I'm going to see-heee-eee."

8. Spoon, "I Summon You." Woo hoo! I'm in! See you all in Heaven, bitches!

9. Devo, "Gut Feeling." OMG it's going to happen.(I wanted to work out Devo and Kinks together as a little Wes Anderson homage, but it didn't quite work out.)

10, 11. Blondie, "Rapture" and Rapture "Whoo! Alright- Yeah... Uh-huh." Two awesome songs with the word 'Rapture' to indicate in the timeline that the Rapture happened. In my version of the Rapture, it lasts like five minutes and not five months. Please note that a dummy in my Media Studies class tried to argue which came first, rap or hip hop, when we were discussing the history of music and this Blondie tune came up as an example of an early mainstream rap anthem.

12. Talking Heads "Heaven." Everyone has a different idea of what Heaven is. I think this place sounds pretty good.

13. Fleet Foxes, "Quiet Town." Everything is quiet because everyone is either dead or hangin' with the apostles and saints and stuff.

14. Daniel Johnston, "Devil Town." A reflection on the life I had been leading, "I was living in a Devil town."

Animal Shelter PSA

2011-05-20T12:06:00.001-04:00

I need to take a second to speak my mind about something that I've felt very passionate about for a long time but have only expressed my views to a few close friends who would listen. It's unusual for me to diverge from the casual, entertaining nature of this here web log, but I just need a soap box for a second.

The first cat we ever had growing up was an orange tabby that one of my father's friends found starving in a snowbank. I was probably 8 or 9, and decided to name him Mittens. Original, I know, and much better than Sargent, the name my dad wanted to give him because of the stripes on his shoulders. Mittens and I bonded right away, like I was some kind of cat whisperer. Next came Patches, who we adopted as a kitten from a friend of my mother's. Both of our cats growing up were really great, and I remember how upset my mom was when Mittens got sick and went in the woods to die (he was pretty dignified, for a cat.)

Back at my old non-profit job, one of my coworkers would bring her purebred French bulldog to puppy play time. She recounted a particularly horrible experience, when another dog, "some dumb mutt" got aggressive with her dog.

"Some dumb mutt?" I thought. "Some dumb mutt who was probably rescued from a cardboard box only to live in a kennel, seeing the light of day for half an hour if it's lucky? I'm sorry, but how much exactly did you pay for your stupid inbred dog? And how many dogs at the shelter could that amount of money have fed and or neutered?"

Of course, I didn't say these things, because I liked the people I was working with, as well as the bulldog. But I just don't understand. People who pay exorbitant amounts of money for their pets have either clearly never set foot inside a shelter or are too impatient, vain or heartless to give a crap. (I'm sure that's not completely true, but I can't get over it.) The maid of honor of the wedding I'm in this fall was just gifted a $650 kitten. No, the kitten isn't made of gold and it's very poorly behaved.

I was just looking at all of the area animal shelter websites and when I came across the Success Stories at the Greater Androscoggin Humane Society, I read like, three before I was moved to tears by the touching letters. In a lot of cases, the it was the people, not just the pets who were in need. They were filling voids in each other's lives.

Cleveland spent some time working at the animal shelter when he was between professional jobs. He said that working there was emotionally exhausting, referring to something he called "shelter burnout." Surrounded by the disparity of sad lonely animals and irreverent, careless former owners all day, it's not surprising. Sometimes the first person to arrive in the morning would find a box at the door, and have to proceed with caution- not knowing if it was a box of food, blankets, kittens or snakes.

Seriously, look at this PSA and tell me you don't tear up a little. It makes me want to run home and hug my little cat with the enthusiasm of Lennie from Of Mice and Men, just shy of the accidental crushing part.

I may not have the money or the means to contribute as much as I'd like to at our local Animal Refuge League. But I do get the satisfaction of knowing I gave my little love bug a home, and she's happy to be here. Mostly.

Comediennes of Comedy in Bridesmaids

2011-05-17T13:26:00.000-04:00

Relationships of all sorts can be tricky. Having a lot of listening, patience and compromise isn't always easy.

Like last Friday, when I was sort of into going to this local comedy thing and Cleveland sort of wasn't. I didn't want to be that person who is always trapped in a love bubble, but I also didn't want to go alone (seemed like no one else was around. Let me rephrase that- Mandy wasn't around.) Cleveland saw my predicament and offered to take me to see Bridesmaids.

I've always thought that Kristin Wiig and her weird chin/neck skin thing was always pretty funny, and this movie certainly wasn't a disappointment. Like many movies with writers/actors attempting to graduate from SNL (Mean Girls, Hot Rod, Anchorman, Blues Brothers...) I laughed out loud. Cleveland laughed out loud. The highlight for me was the joke in which a high schooler tells Kristin Wiig that she looked like "an old mop." Kind of like this:

Anyway, the other funny part about seeing Bridesmaids with Cleveland, besides the fact that he's a man, was that I am a bridesmaid in my childhood best friend's wedding, just like in the movie. I was hanging out with the female portion of the wedding party the following night, and guess what they suggested? Going to see Bridesmaids!

Kristin Wiig plays this woman Annie, who can't get out of her own way. A number of times, this quirky childhood friend ends up somehow ruining a number of wedding-related events. She is disorganized, broke, and out of touch with the new life of the bride. Sound familiar? That's exactly the role I have in Crystal's wedding, except that I'm not the Maid of Honor.

I was traveling with Crystal and her fiance to meet two of the other bridesmaids in a far, distant corner of Massachusetts, (just Mass, to those acquainted) where we would hang out with a $650 Siamese kitten named Bandit, go to the movies (the theater in Millbury was the biggest, best movie theater I've ever been to), watch "Say Yes to the Dress" (not kidding), and eventually try our hand at finding dresses at David's Bridal. I hadn't been to a David's since I picked up my junior prom dress there, but let me tell you, it was full of really unattractive women. No really, I'm not trying to brag about my little motley crew- but Crystal was by far the prettiest bride-to-be.

Here's the dress that the Maid of Honor gets to wear:

Here's the dress that I'll be forced to wear:

I didn't want to be the difficult one, but I really would rather wear the first one, but the other bridesmaid decided that she loved this one. In these circumstances, you have to speak your mind FIRST and then let everyone else decide how to deal with your decision.

But here's the shitty part, and how Bridesmaids the move sort of came true: I forgot my wallet when Crystal picked me up. Oldest trick in the book, right? No! I had no id! I couldn't drink! And like a child, she has to foot the bill for me the whole trip. Yeah, she picked me up, too, because I'm a loser without a license.

So the whole weekend I was trying to fit in with the group despite the fact that I was the loser friend from childhood who forgot her wallet and didn't like anything that the rest of the group liked.

Which is why when the Maid of Honor suggested the bachelorette party be in New York City, I was pretty quick to agree. She thinks that Crystal would really enjoy getting out to the big city. When I asked Crystal if there was a part of New York she was interested in seeing she said, Times Square. You say Times Square to me, and I think of two things: Rudy Giuliani's quest to clean up (gentrify) the city, and Total Request Live. Not exactly the classy, sheik sort of soiree I'm sure Crystal has in mind.

Then I remembered how awesome Portland is, how it won't take any of us six hours or $150 to get to Portland as opposed to NYC, and how much I want the bachelorette party moved here. We'll keep it classy! Portland Harbor Hotel (money saved on train fare could go toward Jacuzzi suite... just sayin'), Schooner cruise, Fore Street, Bar of Chocolate, etc, etc. Then in the morning, Jazz brunch at the Museum, or Local 188... I was so excited about planning the classy Portland party that I almost couldn't get to sleep. It was then that I realized why event planners are so awesome. They get paid to give people their opinion of what will be fun.

I'll keep everyone updated on the wedding planning.

Spring Fling

2011-05-10T15:14:00.000-04:00

Okay, so I've been going a little bit crazy, looking at fashion blogs and shopping online and shit. No really, like non-stop. At the beginning of every semester I get a fatty student loan reimbursement, and I usually allow myself a very small spree to make up for shopping at the Sal all year. This is despite my roommate's ongoing advice to 'make a budget.' My budget plan is to deal with being poor.

I've been meaning to upload a picture of the crazy fascinator that I made for the Kentucky Derby party, which ALMOST earned me a Finest Filly award, but instead I had to find an outlet (excuse) for all the shopping I've been doing. Here's one of those collage thingees that I see fashion bloggers making all the time about shit they want/have/love. Most of these things will work well in conjunction to the jean/t-shirt and occasional printed scarf and/or crazy boot combo.

Note: that is a picture of Mandy's ass, but those jeans were too small for me/already sold.

Oh, and this too.

Cat Lady/Soul Mates

2011-05-09T21:59:00.001-04:00

(I'm the green, Mandy is the grey.)

Ten Years Ago...

2011-05-09T12:43:00.000-04:00

I was about to be a senior in high school. I was really excited about applying to art school, I had some great friends, I was dating a few nice guys here and there. I think I was driving a maroon 1992 Ford Mustang and I had my whole life ahead of me. Or something.

I found this list that we complied in an english class (I believe). Everyone wrote down something positive about each classmate, and the teacher compiled the list and gave it to each of us. I happened to keep and recently rediscover my list... this is what people in my high school english class had to say about me:

AMANDA:

AWESOME PERSONALITY

MAKES FRIENDS EASILY

CONFIDENT

KNOWS WHERE SHE'S GOING (This is sort of funny... Know where I'm going? Like, into debt?)

DOESN'T LET ANYTHING STAND IN HER WAY

SELF CONFIDENT

VERY SMART AND I ADMIRE HER

SHE CAN GIVE HER OPINION WITHOUT BEING PUSHY

SHE SHOULD HAVE HER OWN TALK SHOW (What??)

SHE'S FUNNY, SMART, CREATIVE AND GIVES REAL GOOD ADVICE

HER COOL CHARACTER GIVES THE CLASS AN HONEST OPINION AND RELAXED ATMOSPHERE

SHE BASES THINGS ON HOW IT IS AND HOW IT SHOULD BE

A NATURAL LEADER

HONEST

EXPRESSES HERSELF WELL

HAS A GREAT SENSE OF STYLE (Yes!!)

KIND, COURTEOUS

THE COURAGE TO STAND UP TO PEOPLE WHEN NECESSARY

Well. I can't say I remember very much about this class, except that Beowulf was the only book I've ever not read for class and consulted Spark Notes. I just couldn't get through it. Anyway, thank goodness that one classmate said that I was kind and courteous because I was starting to think everyone thought I was a bitchy know it all.

Munjoy Hill Cocoon

2011-05-08T20:08:00.001-04:00

I know I don't talk about school very often, but the Spring semester is VERY close to being over, I have one final left. Then hopefully, I'll be done the following Spring.

In my Writing the Feature Story class, we all participated in a peer-review workshop. One of my older classmates often has a theme with his stories, "Kids today" (shakes finger.) His paper was about how audience fragmentation and the consumer dictating the market in the music industry has led to Top 40 music being total shit. We talked a lot about it, and he actually ended quoting me in the piece- once about my love for Gaga and Katy Perry, and once about the safety of using cell phones as a defense mechanism. Just shows how many interviews he actually conducted... But anyway, there was a passage about how iPods and smart phones have enabled people in society to cocoon themselves, giving us a lack of social interaction and sense of community. Again, I disagreed, saying that I rely on my cocoon to get me through the Greater Portland Metro Bus ride every day. Citing again that one time I wasn't wearing my headphones and this guy ended up showing me his colostomy bag from his last trip to the ER because he was stabbed in the abdomen.

Sometimes, though, it can be difficult to remember that when you're in public and you're wearing headphones, you aren't really invisible, although you feel invisible.

I had just set out for a mini-East End shopping excursion- mangoes at Rosemont, seltzer at Colucci's, and Epsom salt for ahem, a medical issue I'd been having. There was a man standing outside of an apartment building which notoriously has all kinds of trash and shit on the sidewalk all summer. He was probably about 6'1", black oversize hoodie, baseball cap. Maybe a facial piercing or cubic zirconia studded earrings. He was probably somewhere between 18-22, I don't know, I'm a terrible judge of age. I crossed the street towards him and his friends while another woman, middle-aged, middle class, was also approaching them from the other direction. She was walking some sort of hound dog.

The man started asking her if she used to live near Washington Square, because he used to live near Washington Square. He must've recognized her dog. I was listening for some clues about where the hell Washington Square is, and then I noticed that the guy's face was covered in a bright red rash. But I kept walking and didn't really think anything of it, except that I was going to have to ask Rebecca when I got home where Washington Square was...

I was almost at the bottom of the hill when this guy and his girlfriend (or, the woman he happened to be holding hands with) and yelled in my face: "DID YOU GET A GOOD FUCKING LOOK AT MY FACE NOW?" He was obviously really angry, and I was annoyed because I happened to be texting Cleveland- walking and texting is hard enough as it is. But then I realized that to him, it must've looked like he was some sort of medical oddity or something. Honestly between my bad vision and my curiosity about Washington Square, I barely noticed it was something other than acne. Nothing on Web MD seemed to look the same as what this guy had, btw.

But I'm even sympathetic to people staring at you because of weird face things- after that car accident, I had to wear an eye patch or sunglasses to work at a coffee shop. I get it. He continued angrily yelling things at me, and I continued to pretend like I didn't hear him, thank to my iPhone. Then I heard him yell something like, "AND I'LL FUCK UP YOUR BOYFRIEND, TOO!" from further down the road. Which was weird because how the was he supposed to know that I'm in a relationship? Did he Facebook me? Good thing I have ol' Cleve, because if some random stranger told me they were going to beat up my boyfriend and my boyfriend was non-existent, I would've been really sad.

Anyway, the icing on the cake was that then they walked into Rite Aid, which is where I was going. Instead of following them in and risk getting stabbed, I walked around the block a few times to ensure my safety. Hours before, Cleveland updated his FB status with "It is a wonder how we ever avoided eye contact before the age of the iphone."

It's also ironic that a man who bartends at Forest Gardens, a dive bar near campus that I hang out at sometimes, lives on the hill and says one of the great things about Munjoy Hill is that people actually look you in the eye.

What a weird day.

Who's Bramen?

2011-05-04T15:00:00.002-04:00

Blogger turned Model for Charity, cont'd.

2011-05-04T14:45:00.000-04:00

So, the fashion show was... interesting. Here is something else I wrote for the Free Press, in preparation. Laura was nice enough to give me a ride, and upon our arrival at Pulse (which is on the Cinemagic side of the brook, btw) we were greeted by an enthusiastic 13 year old with pink hair and Converse All Star knee-high boots. We were told via email that 'check in' for models and designers was between 4-4:30. At 4:27, they were still setting up, and Pink Hair told us that the check in person wasn't there yet, but we could just, you know, put our stuff down and hang out. For the record, the one job of the check in person is to check people in.

From there, we basically spent the next three (no joke) hours hanging out, watching girls get their hair done and change into the outfits they were going to model. At one point, Ashley showed up and said she was there to volunteer. Her volunteer duties included arriving, being told to stand around until someone found a job for her. Apparently, after the check in person showed up, all of the jobs were taken because Ashley, Laura and I had a lot of time to check out (ahem, critique) all of the hair, makeup, and fashion unfolding around us. Lucky for me, Laura and Ashley are probably some of the most stylish people I've ever had the fortune to spend time with, and their company was probably the highlight of the evening for me.

Here's a video. If you fast forward to 6:44, that's when I come out.

But if you want a sense of what it was really like, look at this:

http://www.imdb.com/video/screenplay/vi259327769/

These were my fellow models- just realizing now how much bigger my boobs look in comparison...

Oh, and here's another little tidbit of criticism/advice. If you're running a silent auction, and offering tickets to events, it's helpful if you put the day, time, location and actual ticket price in the item description. Also, if you're at such an event, bored and drinking wine, it's only going to be funny to bid on an item if you don't win it. Even less funny would be if the silent auction price was more than the student discount price, and if the show was on a day your boyfriend, the only person you could possibly coerce into going with you, is going to be out of town... guess how I know...

Also, here are some Music Seens that I've written lately: J. Biddy, Astronautalis, The Toughcats and some local indie rock.

First Friday Top 5

2011-04-27T14:16:00.000-04:00

This is a Local Top 5 which was passed on by the Free Press. I figured I'd post it here as a preview for the next First Friday.

Every first Friday of each month, galleries, museums and studios all over Portland offer free admission and later hours. The idea is to make art more accessible and encourage people to support the artistic community of Portland. If that isn't enticing enough, many galleries also put out a lot of free wine and cheese. The key is to arrive early and be completely shameless. Here is my top five in chronological order of my walk:

1) The Closet Factory: This isn’t a gallery at all. Instead, they're purveyors of the breathtaking world of custom closet organizers who were confusingly part of the art walk. The atmosphere consisted of New age music and unbearably awful acrylic paintings. The only redeeming quality were the multiple bottles of Trader Joe's infamous Two Buck Chuck. The catch: you had to have a conversation with the woman hoping to remake your closet as you discretely stuffed your face.

2) State Theater studios: I roamed the halls and eventually multiple bottles of decent wine, actual crowds, a large variety of cheeses, Otto’s pizza and Little Lad’s popcorn. If you found two extremely enthusiastic men to follow around, like I did, they talked TO the artists/proprietors, so I didn't have to. It was a good diversion while I downed glasses wine of wine like shots.

3) The West End Deli: There’s a wine tasting every First Friday. It’s extremely tight quarters and again, not a gallery. I suggest you skip deodorant, run there, and hopefully you stink enough to clear out some of the crowd. This will leave easy access to multiple bottles of wine that did not come in a box and sake.

4) Susan Maasch Fine Art: The exhibit featured artists from PMA’s Biennial. It was an intriguing show, and I was happy I stopped in. But when I found a lone, nearly empty bottle of Malbec on a desk in the back room, I considered emptying the Wounded Soldiers into my own puny glass to make the visit that much more worthwhile.

5) Pickwick Press: I chatted up the friendly bartender at SPACE Gallery and she directed me upstairs, where Pickwick Press was having a party. Great art, copious amounts of boxed wine and an overflowing platter of almond croissants? Amazing.

I'm a Famous Model

2011-04-25T23:02:00.000-04:00

On Saturday, I'm going to be a model in the WMPG fashion show. I'm excited about this for a few reasons:

It'll motivate me to get new shoes for my outfit (I'm in charge of accessorizing).
I'll get to test my new Spanx. Cassandra at Helton Hill picked me for my brain, not my body (I'm assuming.)
A professional will finally be forced to come in and do damage control on the haircut I gave myself about a month ago.
Laura from Sweeter Salt is modelling as well. She claims she's pretty clumsy, so she will probably give me a run for my money.
WMPG needs our help financially. Even though their pledge drives are way less annoying than MPBN's, successful fundraising events are important.
My vast knowledge of the inner workings of Westbrook will be rocked when I discover where the hell/what the hell the Pulse is.

Maybe someone at the Free Press will get wind of this, cover the story, and I will henceforth be known as columnist, prolific blogger and famous model. I'll let you know how it goes, pictures to follow.

A Tale of Two Portlands

2011-04-07T15:53:00.001-04:00

Maybe a tale of two Portlands is a little dramatic, but its the first thing that popped into my head when I was taking my contacts out.

Today started lazily. After Cleveland left at what seemed like the crack of dawn, I turned my fan on for some white noise and my cat turned all Dr. Jekyll for a change and settled down for an early morning nap on my buttox. Between the blankets, the noise, and the warm, barely breathing/purring body on top of me, it was like napping in embryonic fluid. Eventually I got up and began to prepare myself for the day: gotta be fresh, gotta have my bowl, gotta have cereal. I didn't do my homework, contemplated skipping class, and went anyway. Some kid in the back row was talking about how he was wicked psyched to go to SPACE tonight. I knew I was going and I knew I was on the guest list, but since I only talk to underclassmen who aren't douchy, I kept my mouth shut.


Foam Castle's new EP cover art

Mandy has been playing with Tyler Jackson's band Foam Castles, and they were opening at SPACE for Starfucker or STRFCKR or whatever- I'm really out of the loop. Then Mandy and I were going to The Port City Music Hall for a Clash of the Titans, Madonna vs. Lady Gaga.

Much, much later, after a few difficulties at my work-study jobs (apparently if I work for a project for one job while on the clock for another job, I can't get paid for both at the same time. In retrospect, it seems sort of obvious, but no one said anything,) I was home and (SURPRISE!) I took a quick nap before getting ready to leave. Mandy specifically said to arrive at 8:00 and that they were going on at 8:30. Usually, when we hang out or meet up at a show, unless she's picking me up I arrive early. Of all nights, this was not the case, and I ran into half of my under-21 Media Studies class, trapped in the entryway until doors 'officially' opened (Foam Castles was finished sound checking.) I sat on a bench and listened to an enthralling episode of This American Life, while trying to not make eye contact with the crazy and/or homeless man sitting across from me.

Eventually, I got in and was able to join the rest of the over 21 portion of the crowd who somehow were already there. Oh that's right, because they were all staff or band members. Foam Castles went on half an hour later, and sounded great. I saw a few friends peppered throughout the crowd, but was excited for my first GAGA experience.

Insiders say that STRFCKR were difficult to work with, and as ensemble big enough that Space needed to create more stage, I'm not surprised their egos were a little inflated. Mandy pointed them out as they were walking up Congress over to Space, while we were waiting in line to get in at PCMH. One band member wanted to know who was playing, and it would've been interesting to hear someone in line explain "Madonna, no, Gaga was playing, no, but just covers. But no, we know these people it happens all the time here." He didn't stand around long enough to hear an answer. The real question is where were they walking from in that direction?

Anyway, we waited in line to get in at PCMH for so long you would've thought Gaga herself was actually going to be there. I just saw on Facebook that it sold out- capacity at that place is like, over 600. But the joke was on everyone that went, because it was awful. If I was drunk enough, I would've demanded a refund. The woman who played Madonna, a middle aged singer songwriter, killed it. She had the charisma, the ponytail, and the voice. But her band... was so bad. I've touched a guitar maybe once after knocking one over, but I know when someone is wailing on a guitar, not in a good way. I also don't really know anything about sound mixing, but they were playing hits from the radio that I've heard a million times. The guitar player and the bass player needed to SERIOUSLY turn it down.

The Gaga band, however, was awesome. It was like this girl was doing bad Gaga karaoke. It was exhilarating to hear the song live... until she started singing. They even put some sort of autotune thing on. I could've had two beers and done a better job. Seriously.

The issue is that I know there are plenty of talented musicians in Portland, and I've been to a few really enjoyable Clashes. But this was back when they were at the Big Easy and Empire Dine and dance. There were so many people and the music was so bad. It was really weird and claustrophobic.

We left mid-song to head back to Space.

STRFCKR reminded me a lot of Muse, but maybe that just means I'm getting old. They projected little sprinkle-sized lines in red, green and blue all over the walls and ceiling. Cool! A lot of kids getting down, but my contacts were really dry, upping my blinks per minute to like, 100. I was having a hard enough time dancing and blinking normally, so I walked home and finished the newest episode of TAL.

At first, at Space, I thought I was a bit out of place, all these under-21 year olds wearing weird hats and things. But then I went to Port City Music Hall, and I couldn't wait to be back with my friends at Space.

Crazy Gifts

2011-03-29T20:00:00.055-04:00

I can't begin to tell you how much delight curating this post has brought me.

First of all, I love balloons. But only the latex kind, the mylar kind sort of bother me. But in my quest for the perfect man-friendly gift to deliver Cleveland while I was in Indiana, I found that latex balloons are not permitted in hospitals, therefore are more expensive and difficult to come by than they should be.

First of all, I found this under a "For Him" section of a website.Gourmet chocolate covered bananas, incredibly phallic.

Here are some gems from the search. Most of these were from BalloonPlanet.com, but they don't deliver in Portland.

The caption says, "Eat veggie soup." Nothing like a little Chicken Head to brighten your day.

I think this one was almost $100.

Four foot tall free-standing Bugs Bunny. SO CLOSE to getting this one, in hopes that during a disoriented midnight bathroom break, he'd forget it was a life-size balloon and flip out.

Fingers crossed something like this comes my way when I graduate next spring.

Smiley faces are the worst!!

I can't even begin to explain why this one is so horrible.

Only thing worse than a smiley face is a smiley face WEARING A HAT! But only if you're celebrating your retirement.

In the end, I was looking for something like this:

But I ended up going with this. Hopefully, it was just the right amount of ridiculousness without devastating my budget.

Haters be Hatin' (I'll be Dat)

2011-03-07T09:56:00.000-05:00

I offered to cover "I Question America" for the Free Press when it was performed at USM a few weeks back, primarily because I wanted more experience in the Arts and Entertainment section, partially because I knew it would be challenging, but mostly because it's my job and I wanted more hours.

It's a one-woman play written and preformed by E.P. McKnight about Civil Rights activist Fannie Lou Hamer, presented by the Multicultural Student Affairs office in honor of Black History Month.

Here's the article.

And a few days later I received this comment:

"Wow, I can't believe you would be critical of a play about the civil rights movement during black history month, let alone get away with it. "The story took a serious turn..." when it effin started. Now, I love the first amendment as much as anybody- but please stick to blogging about things you know like your relationships and punk rock. you know, shit nobody but you or your friends cares about. Thanks."

A policy of the Free Press is that writers can't comment on their own stories, and that's a rightful policy. But there's nothing that says I'm not allowed to respond in another medium.

Yes, I do blog about my relationships, but it's supposed to be entertaining and possibly insightful, but certainly not news. The fact that he neglected to mention that I blog just as much about my cat, my friends, and drinking, means he probably hasn't seen the blog. Which means he is also then assuming that I'm a punk rock expert.

I'm going to venture that this guy probably doesn't know a whole lot about punk rock. It's probably his rudimentary understanding of counter-culture, much like the way some people think that only the music that exists is the music on the radio. Sure, I spent enough time working at the record store to bullshit with anyone about just about any music genre. And although I've written about music from time to time, very little, if any, has been punk rock. In fact, I think the only time I even say the words 'punk' and 'rock' together is when it's preceded by 'wicked,' and I'm trying to be funny. Emphasis on trying.

He must've entered his name wrong in the comments section, because he claims his last name is Benjamin. I looked him up on Facebook anyway. In his Favorite Quotes section, he wrote, "When I walk up in the club bitches be like he ain't shit. I'll be dat- Redman." Whatever his reason for listing this as his favorite quote, his support of the term 'bitches' to refer to women disqualifies him from telling me, a woman writer, that I shouldn't criticize a play written and performed by a woman, about a woman.

There also did not appear to be anyone who fit his description at the play. Because if he was, he probably would've understood what I was talking about when I said, "The play took a serious turn."

Let me be honest. The play wasn't very good. Some things were edited out for word-count reasons: the play began light-hearted and silly, McKnight portraying humorous versions of Hamer as a curious young girl and a twitterpated young woman, but the play became increasingly tense and serious as Hamer's story unfolded. There was also an extended cut of Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I Have a Dream" speech- which I thought was completely unnecessary. Hamer was actually there for the speech, which makes it a part of her life, but she was also there for many of MLK's other speeches. I think it would've been more effective to use either the last speech he gave before his untimely death, or maybe part of the speech that hasn't been replayed in every classroom across America.

I was criticizing the play and the presentation of the story, not the story itself, "Hamer’s story is incredible, but between the unintelligible rants, the distracting names and dates, and the extended cut of “I Have a Dream,” this play came short of capturing the intensity of her story in its entirety."

Cleveland also made an insightful point: I would add that the argument that we cannot critique a play just because it is about civil rights and (presumably) written and performed by an African-American is itself a kind of racism. It reduces African Americans to representatives of their race, rather artists in their own right.

Food Stamps

2011-02-26T22:23:00.002-05:00

The first time I went to the Department of Health and Human Services, it wasn't a trip I made willingly, like all trips to DHHS should be. Mandy called and begged me to go with her to re-up her food stamps. Over the course of the two hours we were there we met a Salt student living in the apartment my ex, a Salt alum, and I used to live, a tall friend who has since moved away, and a coworker from my old office. It was then that I first came to a startling realization: people who take advantages of social services aren't always unemployed single parents from Lewiston. People like me (sometimes) capable of holding down jobs (sometimes) need extra help, too!

Rewind to five years ago, when I first moved to Portland and thought I fell in love on the bus. The Greater Portland Metro Bus. If anyone reading this has ever been on the GPMB, you know how absolutely ridiculous this is- people on the bus are weird, smelly, sometimes downright scary. I've seen: a man give himself insulin injections on the bus, a man flashed someone ("I'm not surprised he couldn't keep it in- he was like, Long John Silver."), welfare moms, incredibly old people, a girl on the phone with her boyfriend telling him to stop threatening her with physical violence (next day, same girl, "No! You can not borrow a dollar!"), men talking about their recent time in jail or AA... I see a guy almost every day with two suitcases getting on and off different buses. It's worse than DHHS, and day to day it's better than the Social Security Office, but the SS office wins overall. (Another long, ridiculous story about my trip to SS.)

This guy wore Levi's jeans, had a big dark My Morning Jacket beard and I saw on his iPod that he was listening to Yo La Tengo. Sold. I had a job cold calling people, asking them to volunteer to raise money for charity. The only thing harder than asking people for money is asking them to ask other people for money. I was horrible and didn't last long. He and I rode the Number 4 to and from Westbrook together at like, eight o'clock in the morning. The ride was at least 40 minutes each way.

Before I quit on the same day I was getting fired, I was on my way home and a random bus person asked me if I was honestly wearing cowboy boots. Then asked me if I listen to country music, and I gave the standard yes, Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline. MMJ guy waited for random bus guy and asked me if he just asked me if I liked country music and we just kept talking.

The next day I brought MMJ guy to Bull Moose to meet Mandy, who stupidly invited him over for dinner because we were all positive that 21 year old virginal Amanda was going to fall in love with someone she met on the public transportation system because Portland is so urban! Turns out he was totally leading me on and had a girlfriend in Boston. The point of this story is that after seeing our dumpy apartment and realizing how little I was making at my job, he tried to convince me to apply for food stamps. I was insulted and embarrassed and did not. Food stamps were supposed to be for people who couldn't help themselves.

I was so wrong and please don't tell Paul LePage or Glenn Beck that I'm telling you this. I meet the requirements, and I signed up. Half of the customers at Rosemont on Munjoy Hill have food stamps, my best friend, one of my roommates, and me! I can afford meals other than Ramen, and occasionally I'll splurge on ginger beer for a cocktail party or fancy cheese, and I don't feel guilty because Maine is awesome. I am fully sustained and I buy local. Wasn't the state motto "The Way Life Should Be" at some point?

Say Yes to the Dress

2011-02-21T23:55:00.004-05:00

Have I mentioned that I'm going to be in a wedding this fall? And it's possible that I'm attending two, possibly three weddings this summer and I might be working for a wedding photographer sometime soon.

On Saturday, I went with my oldest friend and bride-to-be, to try on wedding dresses in Southborough, MA. I learned a little bit about fabrics, designers, birdcages, train length... Here are the two dresses that she decided she didn't love (as much as I loved on her):

We're trying to figure out what the length of the bridesmaid's dresses. I'm voting for shorter...

So, I was talking to the Maid of Honor, who I just met this weekend. Remember this post? It happened to me again, but in conversation. MOH asked me what kind of music I listened to. Instead of replying with, Who Is Arcade Fire? I panicked. She was flipping through the radio in the car, just the two of us, hence the question. Honestly, of all the stations of the radio, how much variety is there? There's various kinds of talk and public radio, modern rock (alternative), adult alternative, classic rock, oldies, top 40, the John Tesh Show, depending on how close to which border sometimes an international station on the low end of the dial, and... top 40 country. This is the only radio station genre I'm not interested in, honestly. At least normal top 40 is dancable, or if it's Train or Three Doors Down, those songs are wedged in between Britney and Bieber, so it's three minutes I've sacrificed. This is how it went down:

MOH: So, what kind of music do you like?

Me: (stammer)

MOH: (pause)

Me: I... guess I like just about everything on the radio except top 40 country... I mean, I'm really into Johnny Cash, Patsy Cline and the classic stuff it's just... (trails off, looks away)

MOH: Oh, that's funny. I'm totally a country bumpkin.

Me: (head in hands.)

Good thing I did't resort to this...

Facebook Follies

2011-02-18T23:08:00.000-05:00

Facebook is creepy and it makes me feel creepy. How does it know who I want to see in my news feed?

I think it knows that Cleveland and I are in a relationship, even though we're not "In a Relationship." I keep getting ads for engagement rings on the left hand side of the page and I always 'x' them out because they are incredibly disturbing, and I specify that the ad is offensive. He's also always, constantly at the top of my news feed. How does it know? Is it keeping track of who I poke?

Anyway, Facebook also does this thing where it shows you teasers from people's photo albums, if you're say, writing a message or responding to an event. Even if you weren't thinking about wasting time on clicking through people's vacation photos, seeing a snippet can be enticing. Remember when looking at vacation photos was like, a boring chore you did just to be polite? I do, vaguely.

I happen to take Facebook up on the offer to look at one of Cleveland's photo albums, from a family trip to Central America. There was a picture of an iguana, and he'd written a caption about how most of his pictures from the trip were of iguanas, because deep down he's actually like, seven. I laughed out loud, recalling a few nights before that he couldn't go back to sleep after having a bad dream.

Since I wasn't doing anything except lurking on the internet at that particular moment, I decided to share the picture with Mandy, because I knew wasn't doing anything and she'd appreciate the humor.

Approximately six minutes later, much to my horror, I realize I posted it to my news feed instead of sending it as a message.

IT WAS ON MY WALL FOR THE WHOLE FACEBOOK WORLD TO SEE!!

I 'x'ed it out as fast as I could while trying not to hyperventilate. Not everyone knows that we're dating- I'm not trying to hide anything, well, except for here. But if I posted one of his vacation photos to my wall it would be like doodling I Heart Cleveland, Mrs. Amanda Jennifer Ohio all over my "About me" section. I sort of held my hands up so as not to accidentally click the wrong button again, and frantically looked around the computer screen to see if there were any clues indicating that anyone noticed. He told me he was writing, but anyone who does any work on a computer knows how easy it is to get Facebook-sidetracked. But it was 9 p.m. on a Saturday night and Facebook seemed pretty dead.

We weren't hanging out that night because it was my last double shift at Maine Roasters Coffee, and after waking up at 5 a.m. to work from 6 a.m. - 6 p.m., the last think you want to do is hang out. Plus we were going to the yurt the next day. He didn't mention it, so I didn't mention it, and I don't think anyone else saw it...

The Free Press pays me.

2011-02-18T22:53:00.001-05:00

Beer Bellies and Vodka Soda

The Grinch of Valentine's Day

Although I make light of how disinterested in Valentine's Day I happen to be in that column, me 'n Cleve had a really enjoyable time at J's Oyster and he showered me with presents. He'll say that it wasn't a competition, but he totally won Valentine's Day.

2011-02-05T17:38:00.002-05:00

Picture message from Cleveland: my lantern brings all the bugs to the yard.

More Columns!

2011-01-31T22:07:00.000-05:00

Here are my first two columns back from break at the Free Press. Please note that this is a different tooth-related story.

How to Lose a Runaway Dress on Roman Holiday

Lessons Learned from the Death Tooth

More Drunken Chats

2011-01-22T07:17:00.000-05:00

This was a Facebook chat conversation I had last night, around ten, as I was getting ready to go to bed.

former coworker: hi

i miss you panda

me: yeah, i've been laying low.

how are ya?

fc: magical

very very intoxicated

i miss your sweet ass

come to bubbas tonight

cut the floors with me

me: thank you! but i'm opening the coffeeshop tomorrow, so i'm going to have to pass.

fc: awwwww

i love reading your blog

Fashion Props and These Boots

2011-01-18T00:54:00.002-05:00

I've been reading a lot of local fashion blogs, and like a kid on the playground, I feel a little bit left out. Just wanted to give some props to Sweet William, Fore Front Fashion, Sweeter Salt, Grandma June, and Mainely Mara are cool, smart, fashionable women, and hey, sometimes I don't wear sweatpants. Tomorrow is the first day of school and I actually intend on showering. I can be fashionable! And I love Lady Gaga!

I've also modeled some killer vintage finds for Mandy at Shop Grandma June.

Here's the outfit I wore on New Year's Eve, just picture it without the double chin and the mess in the background. God, I look like all of my aunts on my father's side in this picture.

Shirt: 100% silk, vintage.
Skirt: wool, J. Crew. (Pockets!)
Shoes: patent leather(?), Steve Madden.

I sent this as a pic-message to Cleveland, as I was choosing my outfit the night before. He said he was speechless. Assuming he wasn't talking about the mess, I told him not to get his hopes up, it was just a good angle on the mirror/camera angle. Still haven't seen the pics from that night so we might never know...

Oh, and after MUCH, MUCH controversy, I bought these boots on Etsy:

Does anyone else know what it's like to wake up, check your checking account balance and have a panic attack, thinking that you're going to overdraw and be hit with some serious overage fees? I lost my job and suffered two dental traumas in the last two months, over the holiday season. It was a difficult time. I deserve to treat myself to one special present for not falling into a bottomless pit of despair, as I might've done in other phases of my life.

These boots might even inspire me to reprise my role as Carrie Okay. START WALKIN!

My Turkish Love Fortune

2011-01-16T14:22:00.000-05:00

Once a professor of Darcy's asked everyone to indicate their zodiac sign and handed out a horoscope to everyone in the class, indicating that it was unique to their sign. He then asked the class to raise their hand if they thought the description of their zodiac sign matched their personality or perception of themselves. Almost the whole class raised their hands, and then the professor told them that they all got the same thing.
Recently there was also this belief that there was a shift in some shift in the astrological chart thing because of Babylon and the tilt of the Earth's axis over the last 3,000 years. Under normal circumstances, I don't buy into the idea that fortunes can be read and horoscopes are real. It's fun, like an arcade or viral YouTube videos, but not to be taken seriously.

Except in the case of the Turkish Love Fortune. If' you've never had your Turkish Love Fortune read, it's probably because you don't know my friends Laura Grover or Erin Evans. People and their love interests and their hearts, intentions, problems and general love fortunes are laid out in front of you with a normal deck of playing cards. One reason I believe it is because the readings always seem to bring to light a lot of things we should already know about our relationships, the other is because of this one specific time...

Laura, two other friends and I were at Denny's in Auburn late one night. I was 19, dropped out of art school, living at home. I'm not proud of this, but one of the girls with us had a boyfriend, and he and I made out when they first started dating. But the timeline of morality and decision making in my life is not the point of this story- it's that Laura gave her a Turkish Love Fortune, and I was in it! But she didn't know that I'd made out with her boyfriend!

Anyway, here's the audio of my latest Turkish Love Fortune reading from Laura's last visit. It's about 12 minutes. Cleveland and I have been spending a lot of time together, and things seem to be going remarkably well. The existence of some people are mentioned in the reading, but I can't tell you who those people are. Ask me on your own time. Otherwise, my Turkish Love Fortune said that we were pretty much good to go.

Oh, and this is what some horoscope mumbo-jumbo website said about my zodiac compatibility with Cleveland. I'm an Aries, he's a Sagittarius.

"Those Sagittarians born between 23 November and 3 December will be the most spiritually close to you: you could even find your soulmate here. You will gain new insights in a relationship with these sensitive Sagittarians."

2011-01-06T21:08:00.001-05:00

This was taken from an actual text conversation with Mandy, where I actually had to fart really bad.

2011-01-06T21:05:00.001-05:00

This was what I said to Mandy the morning I showed up at the dentist for my broken tooth. She thought it was really funny. Did you also know she calls me panda? Privilege granted to few...

Amanda Pleau, Columnist

2011-01-06T13:40:00.000-05:00

This is the final column that I wrote for the Free Press, but it didn't quite see the light of day. I think my editor quit, and I was caught up between Dan leaving and Paul arriving. This was also written before the Virginia Woolf letter, though I'm not sure how that could've changed things. Oh, and I would've changed that last part, because well, Cleveland might be sticking around. Unrelated note, I filed my income taxes today- let me know if you need any help (I got an A in my Personal Finance class.)

I’m twenty-six, and I’ve been living in the city my school is in for five years. My college experience wasn’t going to be that of most of my friends, who went away after high school for four years and returned with lifelong friendships and a new purpose in life. I didn’t expect to make those kinds of friendships at USM, since I basically leave after class to go home or to work. I don’t even know the names of most of my classmates. My classes have been alright, but sometimes it feels like I’m just going through the motions. My decision to finish school wasn’t intended to change my life, but to even the playing field on the job market after college, and I’ve never considered myself very career-driven. But this job at the Free Press has been challenging, engaging, inspiring and fun- the experience I’ve always wanted from college. I want to write for a living.

It seems difficult to believe that this semester is almost over, and I suppose the last column of the semester should be used for reflection on the last few months. I skipped the shark dissection in Marine Biology. I barely stifled my annoyance with a classmate for taking up class time to complain about other students driving from the Gorham Campus to the Portland Campus and taking up all the parking- only to find out she drives from Grant Street, which at it’s furthest ends is only a half a mile from campus. I’ll have a lot of memories from this semester. My greatest won’t be my g.p.a.’s reflection on my attendance, or that I’ve actually remembered to turn my phone off in the library every time, it’ll be that this is the semester I decided what I might like to do with my life.

I love the feeling of someone randomly approaching me and telling me that they’ve seen my column. This semester, I received my first piece of negative criticism. This is exciting because it means people other than my friends and editors are reading. Even though my critic was right, I should make an effort to complete my sentences and find time for an additional round of editing (or two), it’s alright because I’m learning. For a few weeks between jobs this November, I was actually supporting myself solely on this work-study gig, which was an extremely exciting feeling. I’d love to follow in the footsteps of Ira Glass or Dave Eggars, even though I have more in common with other female writers like Chelsea Handler, Tina Fey and Candace Bushnell, I wouldn’t be disappointed writing copy for catalogues or obituaries after graduation..

Upon further investigation, it seems like enrolling in the Media Studies program might help me combine my love of public radio, storytelling and writing goofy, self-deprecating blogs about farting on the Champs-Elysse or slapped with certain parts of the male anatomy. Misadventures in Portland: Chronicling one girl’s quest for a major and a boyfriend. Perhaps this staggering and unexpected realization about my major will free up some mental space for me to focus on finding a boyfriend. Or maybe my column will earn me so much notoriety I’ll start receiving fan mail from cute guys in the economics or business departments. If either of these things happen, you’ll read it here.

The Cat and the Hair Band

2011-01-03T13:32:00.000-05:00

Space Gallery has awarded me some incredibly amazing experiences over the years. Documentaries, dance parties, incredible art and music- it's a quintessential part of my life here in Portland. I've danced on stage, I've designed the stage, I've met new people, the executive director is the captain of my bowling team... but this summer Mandy and I weren't that into the block party they threw. The art was good, the installations were good, the bands were great, sometimes we just feel like sitting on the couch watching Project Runway. So we left early and did just that.

We settled in on the couch in front of the laptop. I caught a whiff of something nasty. Did you know that cat poop outside the kitty pan smells a lot like people poop? The cat, Baby, had been having some unexplained pooping issues. Rebecca found a poop on the floor the day before, and there was one when I came home earlier that day. This was definitely an indication that something was wrong because, the only times she does this was when I didn't clean the kitty pan for a long time. Like, a LONG TIME. It was her way of saying, "Hey. You know I can't talk but I'm not fucking pooping there!" New roommates have a lower tolerance for this sort of behavior so I do it MUCH more often than I did before.

Mandy noticed that she was dragging her ass on the floor, like a dog. And then she stopped, sat down and looked at us like, "Take a fucking picture it'll last longer."

Mandy: Panda. You gotta get her checked. She could have worms. My cats have gotten worms and I have to pull them out of their butt.

Me: I've got an appointment for her after I get back from the roadtrip.

Mandy: She could have worms.

Me: SICK! I know... just... let me see if she's still doing it tomorrow.

Mandy: Panda, you gotta look at her bum, I think I saw something in there.

Me: Oh, dear god no. (There was a little poopie sticking out of her ass.)

Mandy: Just pull it out!

Me: AH! No!!

So I get up and start pacing because I definitely don't want to touch the poop. I lift her tail again and yep, still there. I go to the bathroom and gather a wad of toilet paper. (What else would I use for grabbing the poopie?) When I get back she's laying on the floor. I try to do it and I kind of get it- I'm trying to stay as far away as I can while still reaching in. My hesitance is making this attempt less effective than it could be. She meows loudly as if I was violating her and scampers off.

Minutes later...

Mandy: Panda, I think I see a worm. I think there's a worm in there. You have to pull it out.

She's saying this in a tone which simultaneously implies both that it's not that big of a deal and that if I don't, I'll wake up to find a worm-laden cat corpse next to my pillow the next morning.

Me: I don't think I can.

Mandy: (Silence.)

Me: I'm just going to let it go and see if she's pooped out whatever it is tomorrow.

Mandy: Panda.

I pick up the cat and hold her with one hand under her chest and the other hand under her backside, pointing her little ass out like I imagine someone would point a flame thrower. Mandy gets the toilet paper and starts pulling. We briefly engage in a tug of war- I'm pulling the cat, she's pulling whatever is stuck in her ass. We're like, actually pulling. Then I scream and throw the cat. Baby and I run in opposite directions.

Mandy: Panda!! You can't do that!! Think how she's feeling right now!!!!!!

I knew how she felt because my heart was pounding. It was scary. What the fuck was in her ass and why wouldn't it come out? And if it was a worm, would it wiggle in my hands? This is why I can never have kids or be a veterinarian. LOW TOLERANCE. I grabbed Baby. She wasn't so patient with me while we tried one more time. She let out a blood-curdling meow, the intensity of like, a kitty rape whistle and riled out of my arms.

We went back to Project Runway. The three of us cooled off and I tried to figure out what to do. It was highly unlikely that I'd be able to get her to a vet sooner, unless it was the emergency vet and that would be hella expensive and the transportation issue still wouldn't be resolved. I saw a woman with a cat in a stroller once, walking around the Eastern Prom Trail- and the weird part was that the stroller looked expensive and the woman looked completely normal. That would sort of be like putting Baby in a... nevermind. She wouldn't go for it.

I decide to look again and see if I could tell if I was seeing this:

http://admin.curiositycreek.org/

Nope. It was this:

That fucking bitch ate a hair band. Not like Poison or Motley Crue, like an elastic band I use to make ponytails. It out of sheer boredom and will to ruin my life that she was having pooping problems. What a bitch. She shit it out before the rest of the episode was over.

But we made up:

The Flowers, the Bacon and the Tooth

2010-12-27T14:24:00.000-05:00

This story is completely true and yes, I'm alright. I wrote this just before Christmas.

The man I'd just started dating went home to Cleveland for Christmas, and the morning after I was preparing breakfast for myself at my apartment. We'd been spending a lot of time together, and a marathon 48 hours straight before he brought himself to the bus station. You're probably not surprised that I'm seeing someone new... but it seems to be going reasonably well, although we're both slightly terrified that we're going to do something to screw things up. This could be a good sign? Anyway, eggs in the skillet and a mix he made for me blasting, when there was a frantic banging on the door. I tried to ignore it; it might've been my landlord hammering upstairs. It continued. My upstairs neighbors are from Australia, and in the midst of their shotgun Portland wedding two months ago, they were getting a lot of packages and flowers. Everyone else in the building has normal jobs, and I'm usually the only person around to sign. I was really irritated to have my tomato, spinach, feta scramble with a side of bacon interrupted. The man banging on the door was holding a gigantic bouquet of flowers. I rolled my eyes.

"Hi! Guess that knocking really paid off! Amanda?" I almost fainted and vomited, simultaneously. I'm not even sure if I thanked the delivery man. The card read something sort of romantic about him being gone and me being here blah blah blah. I sat in front of my breakfast, basking in the glow of how thoughtful Cleveland was and how lucky I am to have him in my life (not just saying that because I know he's reading; also, HI!) I was already thinking about how I could turn this into a story about romance not being dead and how men seriously underestimate the effectiveness of sending flowers to a women. There wasn't much time before I had to leave for work, and so after texting Mandy and talking to Rebecca briefly, I started hoovering my breakfast. A huge bite including a well-done, thick cut slice of bacon... and I felt a molar crack in half. It started bleeding, and I couldn't close my mouth because the loose piece was jabbing into my gum... and I started flipping out. I called Janna in a panic and she found someone to cover for me. I felt my gum bleeding. My old Portland dentist was going to charge $70 to just look at it, and the sliding-scale place wasn't returning my call. I don't have health insurance, let alone dental. This being the holiday season, despite my best efforts to abstain... there isn't a lot of extra money in my checking right now... what if it was going to be expensive, what if I couldn't pay for it? I remembered a friend just got an awesome new job and said domestic partners were covered in her new benefits package. How much time would it take for that to go into effect and would she be into the idea of switching teams for the cause of my tooth? Completely overwhelmed, I started crying. Once I became hysterical, I called Angela. She's one of the many people in my life who won't freak out if I called them crying so hard I can't breathe. I explained that it was like a (bacon) earthquake hit my mouth. Part of my tooth was like California, sinking into the ocean, only my gums wouldn't let it. She talked me off the edge and I decided to walk to the store for a bottle of wine, a pint of ice cream, and some cotton balls. Eventually, the clinic returned my call and said they saw emergency patients at 8 a.m. and 1 p.m.

It was awful. I couldn't eat. What about Christmas dinner, and why is it that terrible things always happen to me around the holidays? This year I was hoping to go to Mexico and skip Christmas, but then I lost my job. Was this the Ghost of Christmas Past, besmirching me? Has my negative attitude about the holiday season created a self-fulfilling prophecy? What about the fact that this happened less than ten minutes into sharing this really romantic moment with Cleveland? It's hard not to ignore the fact that I was eating a piece of bacon and he's a vegetarian, my least favorite of all his amazing qualities. He made pizza the other day and I said, "It'd be better if it had bacon." Seriously. Maybe it's not just karma from me focusing on his vegetarianism, maybe it's karma from all the slaughtered pigs in all the world?! The timing was so incredibly unfortunate. Quick, who has a copy of Omnivore's Dilema to loan me?

I called Cleveland from Rite Aid, and broke the bad news. After explaining that I wasn't in any serious pain and the panic attack was over, he joked that he was upset with me for managing to overshadow the flowers. I agreed, and he asked me to please cross out everything he'd written on the card and rewrite, "Get Well."

This isn't the first dental issue I've had. My dentist growing up was an awesome guy. Dr. James Davis, not to be confused with Jim Davis, the guy who writes Garfield. I know they're not the same guy because I asked him when I was 7. I had a lot of cavities over the years, so I was in there every few months, between six-month cleanings and subsequent fillings. Between the deep grooves in my teeth and my infatuation with Bubblicious gum, we joked that we were funding the new renovations at his practice. It also meant that he made exceptions for me, like taking out my wisdom teeth instead of referring me to an oral surgeon. He did my first root canal, and let me tell you- there was an abscess in my tooth once, and since I don't plan on bearing children, I know that this is the worst pain I've ever felt/will ever feel in my life. Even so, the dentist office was never a scary place for me. It was always just the place I went to get my teeth taken care of. But teeth are little bitches and after yesterday, I'm never going to trust another dentist ever again.

http://sketchedout.files.wordpress.com/

The night of the break, I had preemptively taken some pain killers before I gave my mouth the chance to experience pain, not realizing the tooth was already dead from a root canal a year before. I'd had insurance back then, and the cause of the root canal a chipped tooth, neglected for too long. (The tooth Dr. Davis did the root canal on is still fine, despite it being ten years and me still not getting a crown. He's that good.) Then I made some sangria out of a whole bottle of wine and drank it. For dinner, I had more painkillers, all of the sangria, and a pint of Haagen Daas ice cream. Ben and Jerry's was my first choice, but they all had too many things I'd have to chew. (Disclaimer: this was a special circumstance. I was alone, broken tooth, days before Christmas, unsure if I would be able to fix it or sleep, about to fall into a bottomless pit of despair. My drinking has been very responsible these days... apparently the holidays and broken teeth bring out my Catholic guilt, as well.) I rolled out of bed the next morning in low spirits, put on my boots, coat, and left for the clinic.

The woman who took my x-ray asked me twenty times if there was any chance I could be pregnant. Apparently x-rays are really dangerous to your unborn child. I wouldn't know this, because I do the mental version of plugging my ears and humming when someone said unborn child. I assure here that there is NO WAY. She made a joke about the Wise Men, commenting on the unlikelyhood of there being another immaculate conception, seemingly because she was relating her sexless life with my own. But I'm really just on the pill! Not pregnant! But if someone asks you twenty times in one day if you're positive of something, it's normal to question yourself. So I had a brief panic attack, lasting only until the dentist walked over...

I'm still wearing my coat and scarf. The dentist does not introduce herself, but she's a petite Indian woman in her mid-thirties, about three months pregnant. Hopefully she wasn't around when the x-rays happened. She asks me how long ago I had the root canal, I said either one year or ten, because I don't know which tooth is which. She looks at me like I'm insane. She does not sit, she does not ask me how I'm feeling, if I'm in any pain or discomfort. The broken tooth needed to be extracted, but they couldn't do it. But she didn't explain why, until I asked. I needed to see an oral surgeon, and then starts telling me about the other cavities that I had which needed to be filled. It's not specified where the oral surgeon is, if the sliding scale is going to apply, or even who the oral surgeon is. She calls to see how soon then can take me, but they're closed until Monday. I start sobbing uncontrollably in the chair. There is a loose, broken tooth in my mouth. It's loose like your baby teeth got loose. This was also not going to help my recurring nightmare, the one where all of my teeth fall out. I can't close my mouth and I can't chew, and she's telling me it was going to stay like that until at least Monday? I flipped out and started crying hysterically, wearing my coat, reclined in the exam chair.

The nurse/hygienist comes over. I don't know who she is, because she doesn't tell me. She's about 50, Asian, with some sort pouffy 80's hairdo. Apparently this place is big on Affirmative Action. She asks me if I have insurance. No. Not even Maine Care? No. One would think these people would understand that not everyone qualifies for Maine Care, not everyone is approved, and homeless people and teen moms would take priority over me. She makes me feel guilty for my broken tooth and for not getting a crown and not taking better care of my teeth. She makes me feel guilty for making the dentist feel bad when I started crying. This makes me cry even more because none of these things were my fault or within my control. In the next room over, I could hear a man talking to a young girl and her parents about her teeth. The man, presumably another dentist, was cordial and friendly and very helpful in explaining thouroughly everything he noticed about little girl's teeth. This assured me that it was possible to get quality care at Community Dental, and that it wasn't a company-wide policy to treat their patients with disregard.

The dentist comes back and tells me she can remove the broken piece and give me a filling- a temporary fix. This is the best news I've heard all day, but she doesn't tell me how much it'll cost. At that moment there was $140 dollars in my checking account, and if it was more than that, I'd probably just have to run away.

Usually, when a patient needs to be injected with Novocaine, they put an orajel-like substance on the gums, leave it for a moment to numb the area, and put the needle in. She puts the orajel on, but immediately goes in with the needle. Luckily, I'm not freaked out by needles. She takes the broken piece out and removes the old filling. There was a sharp edge to be filed. They rinsed and suctioned, but did not put in a new filling and didn't explain why, not that I was even sure why it was necessary in the first place. Some of the water sprayed onto my hand, jacket and the floor... this has never happened to me before (sounds like my first time!) When she was done, she put some paper towels on the water and told me to be careful. She handed me the paperwork to give the oral surgeon and walked away. She did not tell me when the novacane would wear off. She didn't tell me if I should expect bleeding or swelling. She did not tell me if I couldn't eat for a certain amount of time, or if I should avoid hot or cold beverages. She also didn't tell me a time frame to be sure to see the oral surgeon. She just walked away.

I get in line to check out, and the nurse walked by me three times, ignoring me all three times. The line took forever, which gave me a lot of time to think about how completely awful my experience was. The receptionist tells me it's going to be $75, but doesn't explain the sliding scale or ask for proof of income, which I had. I hand her my debit card and start crying, again. All I wanted to do was get out of there.

My friend Brandon said he saw me walking down Brighton Avenue, which is a weird place for me to be walking, especially so early in the morning. The bus came right away, but I decided to not get on. I was hysterical and everyone on the bus would've thought I was insane. Brandon pointed out that most of the other people on the bus were also insane, and they would've just assumed that I was learning to speak Homeless. I told him it was too bad he didn't beep and wave, because I could've thrown myself in front of his car.

If this was an episode of Seinfeld, I would chalk it up to the fact that dentists aren't real doctors so they were never taught bedside manner. It's not their fault, they just don't know. But I do think dentists are real doctors! Okay, so these people work in at a non-profit practice that sees a lot of low-income people. They probably don't make a lot of money in comparison to other people in their field, overworked and underpaid... but that does not give them the right to treat me with disregard, disrespect and all kinds of other words that start with un and dis. Not that it should make a difference, but I've asked other dentists to tell me about the worst mouths they've seen. There are meth addicts who's teeth were crumbling out of their mouths and people who'd never brushed their teeth in their entire lives. My cavities and one stupid broken tooth are far from the worst they've ever seen, but all of their patients should be treated with care.

Love Sex Magic: A Dance Mix

2010-12-13T19:48:00.000-05:00

I'm not sure if I mentioned this, but I'm back at my old coffeeshop job. I'm lucky because I didn't have to learn a whole new job, and Janna has been really accomodating with the schedule/carpool. Customers have been, on the whole, pretty happy to see me. The bottomless cup of coffee is great, too.

The other day, I was on the register. A young woman came in and gave me an inexplicable sort of look (just hang on- I'm going somewhere with this.) I'm a pretty good barista. I'm friendly. I pause after I ask someone how they are so they can actually give me an answer, if they so choose. I smile. I go along with jokes. This young woman was a normal, chatty customer. She got two coffees, one with room, one black, and two scones. She tells me that it was her turn to get the coffee. I look at her like, "Yeah, the give and take nature of a relationship can be SO TOUGH!" She understands my look and responds with, "I actually work at a coffeeshop in Portland, just trying to spread the love!" Then she makes a motion over the counter, as if she was a magician about to make the register vanish. The inexplicable look that she gave me when she walked in was a knowing look- a look that said, "I know customers can be dumb and sometimes you have to fake being nice, but isn't coffee just amazing??"

My response to all of this was, "Oh, that's great," and not, "Oh, that's great, where do you work?" I didn't care. Wherever it is she works, if it's on the peninsula, I've either applied for a job there, spent hours upon hours there or had close friends work there. When you've lived in Portland for five years (five??), in just about every neighborhood East to West, and don't drive, you get to know your coffeeshops. Maybe I'm taking this a little far. Although she was trying to be friendly, it was almost condescending, like Portland is where you go to really make it in the world of coffee and I hadn't. What I wanted to say was (and is also the premise for this post), "Don't you know who I am??" Here's the reason:

Looking for something to do immediately after the State Theatre and Greendrinks winter bash of 2010? Join us for for an after-party featuring dance beats by way of Jamie O'Sullivan and a handful of guest DJ's and local celebrity playlists. Your tiny cover charge gives you a warm feeling in your tummy knowing all proceeds go to Prepare Maine (http://www.preparemaine.org/), an education initiative designed to make sure that education remains a top priority on the state level.

This is this Facebook event description for this thing Slush my friend Alex Steed is putting on Tuesday. I'm one of the local celebrities making a playlist, and it was tongue-in-cheek and mostly for my own enjoyment that I thought to myself, "Don't you know who I am??" I'm flattered by the invite, and it's you, my readers, who have made this possible. You are all awesome, unique little snowflakes. Thank you for being reading this silly thing. (Note: I'm not really a celebrity; hopefully you all get that I'm joking here. Seriously, though, thanks for reading.)

When Alex asked me, I was riding the wave of positive feedback from the Breakup Mix post and really excited to help. A lot of thought went into the mix. I wanted to find the perfect balance of dance hits, my favorite songs, my favorite dance hits, and songs that you like. I spent hours and hours on my MGMT and Lady Gaga Pandora stations, as well as purchasing new songs on iTunes. Highlights include iTunes Essentials "Indie Electronic" collection, half of which is already on my computer, with the description, "Believe it or not, cool kids everywhere have finally uncrossed their arms and started dancing." I also previewed a lot of songs from a Best of Gossip Girl list on Ping. Ping is something I still don't completely understand and it always sounds like Jerry Seinfeld is saying it in my head.

I made a rough draft and listened to it over and over. There were some songs that I really loved, but couldn't quite fit in. George Harrison "Awaiting on You All," White Town "Your Woman," and Michael Jackson, "P.Y.T. (Pretty Young Thing)," did not make the cut. Harrison was not dancy enough, White Town was too slow, and this is the text message conversation I had with a friend, re: the mix, re: MJ.

Me: I think MJ's gotta go.
Friend: I think the world is still recovering from the postdeath overkill.
Me: I just said the same thing to my roommate and poured one out.
Friend: Poured one out?
Me: To pour an alcoholic drink on the ground in tribute, typically to pay respect to a dead or incarcerated friend. The drink symbolizes one which should have been enjoyed by the absent person.
Friend: Did you just urban dictionary me?

Yes. The track list:

"Walking on Sunshine" You all know that High Fidelity is still the most influential movie of my life. I love the scene where Barry (Jack Black) does this ridiculous dance. This song always perks me up and makes me want to do my own leg kicking, finger snapping, crazy dance.

"A Sweet Summernight on Hammer Hill" Jens Lekman is sort of new in my life, and this song also makes me incredibly happy. The claps and brass section make it a nice transition piece from "Walking on Sunshine" to "American Girl."

"American Girl" I used to despise Tom Petty as part of my all time top five most despised musicians. But then a friend performed this song at karaoke at Flask, and I realized that not only is this a great song, but that I might not hate Tom Petty afterall. I chose this song not just for it's dancability, but also for the idea that Miley Cyrus is like, THE American Girl.

"Party in the USA" Initially, I was going to put this on repeat for 45 minutes, and have that be the mix. When my roommates aren't home, I do that sort of thing all the time. But then it was decided that it would make my playlist more of a performance piece and less of a dance party. I love this song and I still can't get over this video:

"Nothing to Worry About" I heard this song for the first time back in the days when I was hanging out at the Downtown Lounge four times a week. If you haven't already heard this, it's by Peter, Bjorn and John, the band that did that song "Young Folks," you know, the one with the whistling. I recognized it's booty-shaking potential almost immediately.

"Say it Right" What kind of a dance mix would be complete without a little Timberland? Nelly Furtado's "I'm Like a Bird," was always mildly irritating, but I was pleasantly surprised when she threw that out and turned up the beats. I was having a difficult time with some of the transitions here, and scoured iTunes for the right song for this spot on the mix, and this is where I ended up. Sure, this song is kind of a sleeper from 2006, but I challenge you to stay seated when this song comes on.

"Cameras" At some point while compliling this mix, I wanted to try and cater to my audience as nuch as possible, which means people who generally hang out at Space. Matt & Kim definitely fit the bill, but I'll admit the only Matt & Kim song I knew was "Daylight." I was psyched to find this super catchy track from the same album.

"Time to Pretend" It was hard to decide which MGMT song to use, which was also the case with Phoenix. Sometimes at Retro Night at the Asylum on Thursdays, they hit us with MIA, MGMT and The Knife in a row, and it always gets us going, but they always play "Kids," and I thought "Time to Pretned" fit better than "Electric Feel." We'll see...

"Lasso" Today, I was studying for an exam at the Hilltop Coffeeshop. I went next door to Rosemont Market for a sandwich, and both Hilltop and Rosemont were playing Phoenix. This means one, possibly two things. We all really like Phoenix, and it might be a little overplayed. Consider this track a breather before you throw your back out dancing to the next song...

"Hypnotize" There is a scene from 10 Things I Hate About You which adequitely sums up my love for this song:

At a time in my life when I'd never been to a raging house party or had one taste of alcohol, I was convinced that it was Biggie himself inspiring Kat to jump up on the table and let lose.

"Love Sex Magic" Much like Timberland, I think no dance mix is complete without a little Justin Timberlake. Mandy and I used to listen to Justified in Bull Moose all the time, clapping in unison, in time with the song, from across the store. Dick in a Box wasn't quite dancy enough. I'm not sure about everyone who frequents this 51 Wharf and Oasis circles, but this song is seriously underplayed as far as I'm concerned. Yes, I believe in love and sex and magic.

"Heartbeats" New dancefloor staple. Hands down. Enough said.

"My Head" Arguably the least dancable song on the mix, but it had to be included for all of my friends who have been going into Cult Maze withdrawal since they broke up.

Virginia Woolf: Apparently not a fan

2010-12-05T18:18:00.000-05:00

I think I have permission to write about this because Dan, my editor, forwarded it to me and told me I should blog about it.

This is an anonymous letter Dan received at the Free Press, with the subject line "A complaint from beyond the grave."

Dear Mr. MacLeod,

A writer of yours has so grotesquely abused the english language that I was roused from my grave to take a stand against this most contemptible offense. On the whole, Ms. Pleau's writing severely lacks in content, purpose and technical coherence. Without proper identification of place and time her articles are unbearable to read, and utterly insulting to anybody that struggles with making meaning out of the everyday. I understand the difficulty, as I took on the daunting task of writing a book entirely composed of a single day in a woman's life.

Let us take a look at her article dated September 13, titled "My New Intended Major: Not Sucking at Life". This reads as a diary entry more than it does a column affiliated with a university and meant to be read by others. How the writing of last week's column makes a worthy subject for this week's column baffles my victorian mind. The point of having a column shouldn't be to smugly remind others of said column.

Grammatically the article is a nightmare. The first sentence alone is redundant and poorly constructed. Her misuse of commas is not only enraging but obstructive to the reader. She writes vague and nondescript lists of seemingly arbitrary daily tasks, with no singular cohesive thought to tie them together. And to top it all off, the banality of the lists even lacks a hipster slash of irony.

Even more infuriating, Ms. Pleau appears to have forgotten that the ability to pursue higher education was not always granted to women. Her comment about "hoping for a sugar daddy" to fund her leisurely lifestyle, so she may continue "having a really good time" is degrading.

I refuse to believe that in this university of nearly 10,000 students you can not find someone capable of writing with competence, imagination and integrity.

By continuing to publish her dribble you are doing a disservice to both the university, and her by perpetuating the delusion that she has even the remotest ability to write.

Thoughtfully,

Virgina Woolf

Alright. First I should aknowledge that Virginia Woolf isn't completely wrong, and I'm deeply regretful for offending a literary icon. I don't know what I'm doing, really, and I write like I talk. Really. I'm not an English major, I'm not a writing major, or a literature or classics major. I've never read a Shakespeare play, but I once heard an episode of RadioLab that talked about him a lot. I'm a student and I'm learning (that's the whole point, right?) Writing a column on deadline every week is a lot different than writing this blog; it's so much more difficult. The Free Press does a great job, but they don't micro-manage, so don't blame them, if, my, commas, are, out of place,,.

But wait! USM offers a class called Writing Opinion: Editorials and Columns. So far, I've received As or Bs on all of the papers I've submitted for grades in the classes I've taken at USM. Virginia, don't give up on me just yet!

"She writes vague and nondescript lists of seemingly arbitrary daily tasks, with no singular cohesive thought to tie them together. And to top it all off, the banality of the lists even lacks a hipster slash of irony. "

This might need to be the new Misadventures in Portland tagline... but I can't help but wonder: Virginia Woolf has been dead since 1941, so how would she know what a hipster is?

"How the writing of last week's column makes a worthy subject for this week's column baffles my victorian mind. The point of having a column shouldn't be to smugly remind others of said column."

Why not? I have a column and you don't. I have almost 2,000 view a month on my blog and regularly receive compliments from complete strangers on how awesome it is (I am.) I'm contributing a celebrity guest playlist at an event at Space and I'm the celebrity! It's all self-motivated. There's no money, no reward, no grade for this, I get to do it because I love it and you guys seem to dig it, too.

How about this? "Even more infuriating, Ms. Pleau appears to have forgotten that the ability to pursue higher education was not always granted to women. Her comment about "hoping for a sugar daddy" to fund her leisurely lifestyle, so she may continue "having a really good time" is degrading."

Every time I make a comment about something like this, it seems to get a lot of heat. So this is what I really mean: There are really women who are like this. There are actual women who marry rich old guys for financial security. I don't want to judge them, because they were probably more popular in high school than I was and probably have more expensive clothing. It's said with the sarcastic roll of an eye, and it's not meant to be degrading to the integrity of women. It's this thing that's been around since the 1500s called sarcasm. The quote from the column was actually this: "Maybe I’ll get lucky and find a sugar daddy and endure terrible wrinkly old guy bunny rabbit sex so I can see the world at my leisure," and I was touching on the hopelessness of the job market in the paragraph before that. It seems odd that my intentions were misconceived by such a forward-thinking, influential, lyrical writer as Virgina. But, then again, she was actually married, so who is she to judge.

My lifestyle seems leisurely, because that's how I choose to portray it. There are plenty of deep seeded issues dating all the way back to my childhood, as well as current problems that range from finances, drinking-related decision making issues, roommates, and my right eyeball not working properly, that I could also write about that would make my life sound anything but leisurely. I've always worked at least 30 hours a week while taking classes full time.

I don't want to disrespect the legacy of Virginia Woolf. But if she was going to rise from the grave to say anything, it would probably be about how much she regrets taking her own life, burning in hell (just kidding, I hear there's beer there), and missing out on innovative depression treatments and subsequently being able to experience all of the beauty in the world. Her husband remarried a woman name Trekkie. Maybe she'd have something to say about the choice of Nicole Kidman's portrayal of Virginia in the Hours. If Virginia was still alive, she would also be able to comment on all of this stuff: "Recently, studies of Virginia Woolf have focused on feminist and lesbian themes in her work, such as in the 1997 collection of critical essays, Virginia Woolf: Lesbian Readings, edited by Eileen Barrett and Patricia Cramer. Controversially, Louise A. DeSalvo reads most of Woolf's life and career through the lens of the incestuous sexual abuse Woolf suffered as a young woman in her 1989 book Virginia Woolf: The Impact of Childhood Sexual Abuse on her Life and Work." Which isn't to say that those theories are incorrect or do not have merit, but over time, Virginia herself might've further explored these aspects of her life in her own writing.

Next time someone writes a letter to the editor about how much my column sucks, I hope it's Tucker Max. His tagline is, "My name is Tucker Max, and I'm an asshole."

Also, Virginia Woolf, maybe kind of hot?

True Love Will Find You in the End

2010-11-27T01:54:00.000-05:00

This is a message of hope.

And heartache.

And a large amount of bullshit. About a week ago I noticed that my old roommate, Julia, posted on Facebook, "know any good breakup songs?" I, having been through a breakup or two myself, and a lover of pop music know all about the breakup songs. She received a lot of responses on this post, but other than Cee Lo Green's Fuck You, I didn't think that there were all that many appropriate breakup songs, mostly songs that were too obtuse or angry for her to actually be interested in listening to. So I decided to make a mix. I love an excuse to make a good mix.

Breakup songs. To understand what makes a good breakup song, or the criteria of what makes a song appropriate for this list, it's important to think about the various different states of emotions and various circumstances of a breakup... sorrow, despair, loneliness, regret, rejection, vengeance, loss, triumph, joy, relief, guilt, hope, solace, grief, disbelief, denial, depression, bitterness... and the list could go on and on. Lots of stand up comedians (and movies producers) make their living trying to somehow relate to some of these feelings. For this breakup mix, even though I had no idea what Julia's situation was, how long they were together, who initiated the breakup, I tried to cover all the bases.

After scouring my iTunes for days, I also used my mad Google skills to find this site, a comprehensive top-100 list in which to compare my rough draft list. There were a couple of songs there that either I did't have or thought couldn't quite fit into my mix. Some notable exclusions, Careless Whisper, Against All Odds, Popular (Nada Surf- three important rules for breaking up... should've been my opener), I Fall to Pieces, I Will Survive... Then there were all of those songs Johnny Cash put out after June Carter passed away... death. The ultimate breakup. I might need to make a volume two.

I believe I titled it, "I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry so Fuck You."

I Think I Need a New Heart - "Time stands still, all I can feel is the time standing still, as you put down your keys, and say don't call me please... You've lied too, but let's assume that I can't tell the truth, unless I put it in a song... I'll never stay to say Happy Anniversary, so I think I need a new heart." I guess this guy is talking about his own insecurities about not being able to truly love someone like they (and let's face it, everyone who has love to give) deserve. There are probably a lot of songs from the double disc monster 69 Love Songs that could be included on this list, and I picked the one that was featured in a fucking cat food commercial.

5 Years Time - This song is deceptively joyous with the claps and whistling and ukuleles... in reality, at some point in a relationship, you realize that it might not last forever. "And though really all these moments are just in my head, I'll be thinking about them as I'm lying in bed... In five years time, I might not know you, in five years' time, we might not speak a word." Lying in bed, thinking... yeah. This is, for me, the period of time before reality sets in, before you give the stuff back or run into each other in passing. Kind of a, "Did this really happen?" moment.

I and Love and You - In a way, all songs about love can also be about a breakup- the idea of revisiting that moment that you realized you felt it- and mourning the loss. For me, this song is about realizing you've fallen out of love with someone."My hands they shake, my head it spins, oh Brooklyn, Brooklyn, take me in. Three words that became hard to say, 'I and Love and You.'"

I See a Darkness - Tim and I have fought about this song. I would say that it's the most depressing song I've ever heard, and he would argue that in the rest of the album it gets better and that I just need to take it off repeat, or whatever. When I first moved to Portland, I would sit in the living room of the teeny tiny Market Street apartment Mandy and I shared, with this song on repeat and sob uncontrollably. "Then I see a darkness, did you know how much I love you? Is a hope that somehow you can save me from this darkness." Like maybe if somehow you could convince them of how much you love them, seriously, they'd reconsider. This is a song for the breakupee.

I Found a Reason - This Cat Power cover is so sad in comparison to the original by the Velvet Underground. "I do believe, in all the things you say, what comes is better than what came before." We've all heard this line before in a breakup talk, "You can deserve better, you can do better." And yes, it's probably true if that person has the audacity to undermine your judgement in who you decide to give your love to. These lyrics strike me as both hopeful and disheartening. Hopeful that you'll find someone new who will make you happy, but also disheartening in that you're now burdened with the incredible task of finding that new person.

Ain't it Strange - "Ain't it strange, cause I'm always thinking of you, I need you here... Baby I don't mind, but I know how soon you'll forget me." Yeah. It stings to think about other person in your relationship moving on, like all of the time you spent together was insignificant, or something. I'm always the last one to get over it.

Crown of Love - This was an important change in tone in the mix, and if I understand the crown of love has fallen from him because he screwed up somewhere, and he's trying to get his lover back, because he's still incredibly in love with her. Arcade Fire's Funeral is also arguably my favorite record of all time (yup, going there, saying it, don't care what you think,) and I usually try and sneak a track onto most mixes.

I'm Not Crying - "You can't break my heart, because it's liquid, it melted when I met you. I'm not crying... it's just been raining... on my face." Awesome.

Here Comes That Rainy Day Feeling Again - Josh and I used to make mixes together all the time, and I think this song came up on a "Rainy Day" mix that he was working on. "Here comes that rainy day feeling again, and soon my tears they will be falling like rain."

You Just Keep Me Hanging On - Thank you, Diana Ross, for showing us what empowered women look like. The male love interest in this song is such a manipulative bastard and will not leave her alone. We've all had those times, in a moment of weakness, sometimes there's alcohol involved, where we send a text, write an email, sometimes even *gasp* call. Don't be like the guy she's singin' about here. Let it go.

You Can Go Your Own Way - We're clearly arriving at the "I want to get over you" part of the mix. "Loving you isn't the right thing to do," then later repeated like a dozen times, "You can go your own way." The love hexagon in this band made for some crazy awesome songwriting. Of course, they were all on tour together, so there was no way to go their own way.

These Arms of Mine - Oh, wait, and we're back to sad. I picked James Carr's version because it's slightly more heartbreaking Otis Redding's version, and I also wanted to use a different Otis Redding song later... This is an incredible song, regardless of who sings it, and takes one completely different meanings to people who are in love and out of love. "These arms of mine, they are lonely, lonely and feeling blue. These arms of mine, they are wanting, wanting to hold you." You know the feeling of being used to sleeping next to someone, then all of a sudden they aren't there anymore. What was once their side of the bed is like a black hole, or that cavern that guy falls in then has to cut his forearm off to save himself in "Between a Rock and a Hard Place, " now a major motion picture starring James Franco.

About Today - When I think about the National, I think about this song. "How close am I to losing you... Tonight you just close your eyes and I just watch you slip away." It's got to be the violins that make this song so heartbreaking for me. But it also seems like the singer has no idea what he's done to be put in this situation where he's losing something he loves.

I've Been Loving You Too Long - I decided to include this song after seeing it on that top 100 breakup song list. I'd say more, but I'm still so sad from listening to that National clip.

Your Ex-Lover is Dead - Two ex-lovers are at a party and they're introduced by some mutual friends who didn't know they were once lovers. (Welcome to Portland.)

Kiss Off - This is for those moments in the breakup process when you're really angry and bitter, a how could you do this to me!? sort of thing. I seem to remember turning this up extremely loud, on repeat and jumping on my bed and yelling "TEN TEN TEN TEN FOR EVERYTHING EVERYTHING EVERYTHING!!"

Why Bother - "Why bother, it's gonna hurt me, it's gonna kill when you desert me," Like, I've been through this, I know how it ends, I might as well just stop while I'm ahead. Pinkerton is another one of my all time favorite albums, which is how this song made it to this mix.

Since U Been Gone - Although there's never a situation in which I approve of the use of U instead of You, this song does an excellent job narrating a relationship from beginning to end in less than four minutes. Darcy and I have had a number of maximum volume sing alongs to this song. Thank you, Kelly Clarkson, for reminding us that more often than not, things eventually get a lot better after ending an unhappy relationship.

Fuck You - Cee Lo says what we're all seriously thinking, but the brilliance of this song is that the swear is so misplaced in the song itself. You expect the f-bomb in certain kinds of songs, but this isn't one of them, "I guess the change in my pocket wasn't enough, I'm like fuck you, and fuck her too." A cynic would've ended the mix here.

True Love Will Find You in the End - I honestly believe if you work hard to be happy in life, to be a good person, don't give up on yourself, open your heart and let love in (oh gosh I'm going to stop here before I accidentally vomit on my keyboard), true love will find you in the end.

AT&T vs. Christo and Jeanne-Claude

2010-11-25T02:54:00.000-05:00

I am an At&t customer. I like my iPhone. Despite the ridiculously high bill I get every month, and the lack of service in my apartment, I'm happy with my cell phone provider. I was just watching Glee* on Hulu, one of my favorite passtimes, when this commercial for At&t kept playing. At the end, there's a disclaimer saying that the artists Christo and Jeanne-Claude have no direct or indirect affiliation with At&t.

For some reason, I find this incredibly irritating, and I thought maybe I'd share with you to make a judgement for yourself. Maybe I just think that Christo and Jeanne-Claude are incredible artists and shouldn't be touched with a ten-foot pole. It also helps make me really excited for my modern art history class next semester.

Christo and Jeanne-Claude
The Gates, Central Park,
New York City, 1979-2005
Photo: Wolfgang Volz
©2005 Christo and Jeanne-Claude

*I had no idea that Cee Lo Green's song featured on the show was actually an edited version until way later.

Harry Potter and the Super Big Gulp

2010-11-23T00:18:00.000-05:00

Today was really uneventful but I'm going to tell you about it anyway.

Class this morning was marine biology. We finally watched a video of a tiger shark destroying a sea turtle. I got a C on my exam, then went to meet Micaela in the Woodbury Campus Center. We caught up a bit, it was nice to see her, but I had to get to my eye exam. It was a follow-up appointment for my contact fitting, and listened to the Moth podcast the whole way there. Although I was at Maine Eye Center for an entire hour, only ten minutes was with the doctor. Totally worth the wait, right? During my ridiculously long wait, I did find out that in a survey of Travel and Leisure readers, Portland, Maine ranked in the top five cities in the country for safest and best beer, though something seems a little off that those two categories are together.

I left the Maine Eye Center, which is over by Denny's. I chose this optometrist due to it's proximity to my old apartment in the St. John Valley. Normally, when I go back to that neighborhood, I get a pint and a sub from Pizza Villa. But, since I'm trying to cut back on that sort of behavior (drinking alone, during the day), I decide to skip it. But it's almost 2, I've only had coffee all day and am totally starving. Other than the Villa, I think there are two options, McDonald's, or Kim's. Joe Ricchio indicates that Kim's is one of the top ten things to eat in Portland, but sometimes I get minor anxiety going to a new place for the first time. But why I never made it there the eight months I was living two blocks away- still a mystery.

There's little deliberation. I get a McChicken, a cheeseburger, and a small order of french fries. This is similar to an order that I make at Wendy's, sub the cheeseburger for the jr. bacon cheeseburger, and the McChicken for the cripsy chicken sandwich. The price is about the same for both of these orders, but the Wendy's experience is much better.

So, I'm walking down St. John Street, McDonald's in hand, on my way to the bus, and someone beeps and waves to me from a black Subaru. I don't know who was in the passenger seat waving, but I believe the only two people I know who own that car happen to be the two owners of a certain bowling alley I recently stopped working at. Great, so it looks like I'm unemployed,and eating fast food between turning tricks on St. John Street.

The bus is on time, I get home pretty quick, and alternate between reading blogs and gchatting for the next few hours. I was feeling compelled to see a movie on my very limited budget, since it's Super Bargain Tuesday. I couldn't decide between the new Zach Galifinakis, but I also couldn't ignore the nagging desire to see the new Harry Potter. So I went to 7-Eleven and picked up SUPER Big Gulp:

When I Google imaged the Super Big Gulp, I also learned that there in a Super Big Gulp there is: Sugars, total: 128g, Calories, total: 512, Calories from sugar: 512 (38 oz soda + 6 oz ice) source, http://womenonwellness.com/sweet-poison/. I, of course, knew this, and got diet. Heh heh.

So I decide to go to Due Date, it's alright, I laugh a few times. It was mostly forgettable, and my bladder was busting, so I waited in line at the bathroom. On my way down, I walked into a busy lobby, and open doors to the Harry Potter movie.... and I snuck in. Oh, and as my foot crossed the threshold, I reverted to my 17 year old self.

Do I need to get out more?

Damn you autocorrect!

2010-11-22T16:53:00.000-05:00

This image came from damnyouautocorrect.com, which might only be funny to iPhone people... I don't know. But Mandy and I were texting, as we often do, and this is an autocorrect error that she made to me. This is her phone, I'm 'panda.'

Blog Love

2010-11-20T11:06:00.000-05:00

There is this new Portland fashion blog called Fore Front Fashion. I'm on board with a lot of things they do, feature local shops, stop random people on the street and say hey! you look great! But recently, I had to step in because their post on local Etsy shops was a bit lackluster. I made some contributions and they gave me some credit here.

I like contributing to things like that, since I wouldn't exactly call me and my L.L. Bean boat and tote bag on the cutting edge of fashion. It's usually either jeans and a tshirt, jeans and an oversized wool sweater, or the 'just rolled out of bed' look. Maybe someday...

While we're on the subject, though, here are some things I wouldn't mind living without:

I've made some sort of name for myself?

2010-11-19T16:15:00.000-05:00

My former coworker and current friend Michaela and I had this conversation about a month ago, around 1 a.m. I had finished work early that night, bowled a little bit, and was home before last call.

Michaela: I was outside and someone said I love Amanda. Bahahahahaha!

M: They were talking about you. I asked then laughed at them.

(the next morning)

Amanda: What?? Was is Kill the Karaoke people? I don't even know most of the people who were hanging out last night.

M: No it was random bowlers haha

A: Oh, that's so weird! How'd they know who I was? I have a bowling name!

M: Umm maybe you served them?

A: I stopped serving at 11.

A: WEIRD

Grocery Store Juggling Party

2010-11-18T00:45:00.000-05:00

Here's another short video of me doing something silly in a grocery store:

When life hands you lemons... just try juggling.

This is my "Bah, Humbug" post

2010-11-17T18:21:00.001-05:00

Let me tell you, I've grown to pretty seriously despise the Holiday Season. I'm terrible at giving gifts and I'm terrible at receiving gifts. And, I know that it's rare for me to get serious here on Misadventures, but I think it's time for a real-life update.

It all started here, when I became a National Public Radio story in 2008 for my Christmas Movie Madness. Here is what people had to say about me:

"Unfortunately all the x-mas movies in the world won't bring her 'rents back together. It is a reality she needs to accept. All she can really do it try to make the best of the situation. My heart goes out to her but if we all lived our lives by what we saw in the movies we would lead a rather sad existence."

" The lesson that still needs to be imparted is that the spirit of Christmas is not about what's in it for you (her) --- it's about the joy we create get when we give to others. I hoped for a minute that in her talking with family, the word SHARING would enter into the dialogue, either as spoken by the young lady or by the writer. The sharing of feelings, good and bad, is on the right track. Perhaps she might have learned that she was not the only one struggling with broken fairy tale memories. Hopefully, Miss Pleau can get past her needs and start to view the holidays as opportunities where she can explore what she can do for others, and not just what others - or movies – should be doing for her. I can guarantee that in the giving, she will get back so very much more."

If that's not a mood-killer, I don't know what is. Furthermore, I believe I spent the majority of Christmas Day alone that year, until the White Heart opened at 9 or whatever. Christmas Movie Madness was just a way for me to get Josh to watch all of my favorite Christmas movies, sort of, amp up the spirit for a change. But in order to turn it into NPR fodder, he needed an angle. I became a sad, shallow, lonely child of a divorce.

Last year, I was in a car accident on December 13, the Sunday before finals week and less than two weeks before Christmas Day. The airbag hit my eyeball and I totaled my car. It was unclear whether I was going to ever see 100% in my right eye or if I was going to have to go home with a maimed face. I postponed most of my tests. My face healed pretty quickly, but there are still times when I struggle with seeing/reading things. The other day my friend Stephen said that he got a black eye from hitting his face on the car door, and I misread it as cat door. I went home for Christmas that year, but I spent most of the day in bed instead of spending quality time with my family.

This coming year, still single and counting, I was pretty psyched that I had the opportunity to work on both Thanksgiving and Christmas. It gave me complete control over when I would see my family and make the holidays more like normal days that we get to spend together, with good food and maybe some presents. But I was let go for a serious act of misconduct. I've never been fired before. I'm not looking for sympathy, god no, I deserved to be fired. I couldn't be more guilt-ridden and ashamed. If I could take back any day in my life, and there are a lot to choose from, it would choose that day, without a doubt. It's not every day you find a job you really enjoy and pays well. But of all the things that are going to change as a result of my new employment status, I might've ruined Christmas again.

There are some positive changes, though. Instead of spending my afternoons in restaurants (bars) killing time after class and before work, I'm rediscovering my love for fresh-brewed iced tea and cooking. I can now officially say that I'm supporting myself solely on my writing (Thank you, Free Press!). Oh, and recently I discovered that my Music Seen pieces for the Phoenix are actually available online here. I'll get to go home for multiple days at Christmas and I have a lot of time on my hands to think about what kind of awesome presents to make/buy for everyone.

In an attempt to sort of get in the spirit, since all of the stores are covered in decorations, I've been listening to this song by Israel "IZ" Kamakawiwo'ole, which I'm sure you're heard before. It's the What a Wonderful World/Somewhere Over the Rainbow ukulele mash-up. I think I get like, money if you click on the link over there <- and buy the Fred Claus soundtrack, which is the only place to get this song. Yes, I have it.

Anyway, like I said, there will be more updates soon, more ridiculous stories about online dating and my cat Baby, etc. But I just had to get this other stuff off my chest to move forward.

BRB!

2010-11-15T23:26:00.000-05:00

Kind of a crazy weekend, paired with quite a few deadlines and exams this week, and I haven't had much time for an update. Stay tuned for another story about my cat, and some videos of me looking sort of awkward doing random things while being video recorded. Until then, here is a column I just wrote for the Free Press.

Post Election Blues

2010-11-11T14:28:00.000-05:00

Another Night at the Front Room

2010-11-05T00:15:00.001-04:00

I love going to the Front Room. Their happy hour is awesome, you can eat for really cheap (giant BLT for $6,) or you can eat reasonably fancy. They have a great happy hour and they're approximately three blocks from my house. A few months ago I had some terrible service there, but it was Sunday morning brunch, and it's possible to get bad service anywhere on Sunday morning. Josh and I used to live like, next door and I wrote about this night in 2008 and the other morning I ran into this guy at brunch. He asked me if I worked at Bayside Bowl. I just about yelled: I KNOW YOU SLEPT WITH A STUDENT YOU CREEPER LEAVE ME ALONE. I'm low maintenance and I tip well- occasionally when I'm at a table I feel like I'm inconveniencing the server, but maybe that's because their entire job is inconvenient. Or I'm over sensitive about pleasing my server, when it should obviously be the other way around.

Bob, one of the bartenders, Angela and I, have an inside joke: Angela was explaining how this cruise ship looked like it was trying to mount the City of Portland and I said that everything was always about sex with her. Bob pipes in and says, no talking about sex at the bar (though mostly stoic and never smiles, he's a good bartender and this proves yes, he has a sense of humor.) A few minutes later, our mussels come out, and a few minutes after that, he asked us how the mussels were. Except... that's what he meant to say. My mouth was full so I just nodded and gave a thumbs up, Angela and Bob exchanged a what just happened look... He actually asked us how the sex was. I change my answer from thumbs up, to non-existent. Now every time he sees us it's, "How's the sex, ladies?"

Tonight, I went by for a hot toddie and some soup. I was travelling for 30 hours, then went out when I got home I went out... and last night my throat started tickling. I set out on this rainy Thursday evening in leggings and Bean boots, a giant sweater which I pulled over my pajama shirt last from last night, meaning, no bra. My hair wasn't washed, frizzy from the rain, and pulled back in a bun. But I planned on keeping my head down at the bar, eating and leaving, plus it was cold and rainy. Once it starts snowing I'll practically live in this outfit. The meal, grilled cheese and red pepper-fennel bisque, was satisfying. Partway through, I moved over to make two open seats next to me on my left, and met some bros who started talking to me about the bowling alley... not uncommon. On my right was now a man in his late 60s-ish, having dinner with a younger guy. When I first look over, I think the younger guy is pretty hot, but then I took a closer look and was less impressed. I heard him recounting this ridiculous story about how when he was 21 and working as some sort of laborer, he would walk around the building with no shirt on, carrying 2x4s, getting in the elevator with men in suits, how he couldn't imagine behaving that way now. Maybe he could tell I was listening... I also heard him say something about his students, so he's a teacher of some sort. Could be karate for all I know.

It's pretty close quarters in there when the dining room is full, and I hung up my wet, yellow raincoat. On my way out, I push my some people, grab my jacket, go back to the bar to get my phone and my purse, and make my way to the door. There are people waiting for a table, blocking the exit and I stand patiently for a second, until they'll notice me and get the fuck out of my way, when I hear, "Excuse me." I'm shocked, my pulse quickens and if someone tries to push passed me to get out the door they'd better be on fire or in labor- otherwise they're getting a big healthy dose of "Go Fuck Yourself." I'm out the door when I hear it again, and I'm about ready to thank that person for chasing me to return my wallet/cellphone/whatever I've left at the bar, and it's that guy. The shirtless at 21 guy, and he's leaning into the door at me. He's taller than I expected. "Would you like to come back here and have drinks and some dinner with me?" Holy shit! This stuff actually happens to people. Maybe my new contacts are working? I wonder what the 60 year old had to say about this. I look him in the eye, look away, look again, smile, and tell him that I usually work nights, and that maybe I'd see him there again sometime.

Road Trip Update: Homestretch

2010-11-04T22:17:00.000-04:00

Vegas to Los Angeles, and LA to San Francisco was really fun. We decided to skip the entirety of Route 1 up the coast, for the sake of time, but it was worth it at Santa Cruz... some truly breathtaking coastal views.

Anyway, I'm not going to bother with details about the last days in LA and SF- Some things are better left unsaid. Except, that it was so great seeing Craig, and not just because I beat him at bowling (cough, ahem, first game).

Kate and I got a little crazy watching game three of the World Series two nights later. I wake up somewhere in San Francisco, ridculously hungover, aftermath of some party, safe, but without Kate. Not only do I not know where I am, but I don't know how to get to the airport. Iknow there are busses, so I ask a busdriver where to go. I left at 7 a.m. to catch a flight I thought left at 10 a.m. I look at my confirmation email again at the subway and nope, not leaving until noon. Good thing I woke up so early.

Upon arrival at the airport, I follow signs to United. I go to the self-check in kiosk... And my name does not pop up. I pull out the confirmation email again, to check the flight number, and realize I'm actually flying Delta. There are a few important things you need to know when you're flying, where you're flying out of, what time and what airline. I'd already gotten two out of three wrong, thank goodness San Francisco only has one airport. I attempted to help the hangover with a minosa/steak/eggs breakfast, to no avail.

I'm excited to be on the aisle and not sandwiched in the middle. But we left the Tarmac an hour late due to some fueling issue. Now, I've missed flights before, lost luggage, had to run for a gate and I'm still here, in one piece. It was out of my control- so I chose not to worry about it until I had to. I watched the new Twilight movie and I might be on Team Jacob. I also watched this movie called the A-Team, with Bradley Cooper. Not a bad lineup for a three and a half hour flight.

The delay left me only twenty minutes until the next plane left. I arrived at Gate E and decided to run for it- all the way to Gate B. That's a lot of ground to cover, and if I wasn't such a state of panic, I probably would have realized there's a shuttle. (I implore you, if you're on an escolater or one of those moving sidewalk things, step aside. There's probably someone in a hurry, especially in someplace like Atlanta, the biggest fucking airport ever.) Before my mom took her first plane ride last year, her worst fear of flying wasn't claustrophobia, hijackers or crashing, but that in the same vein as Home Alone, she'd have to haul ass through an airport to make her flight.

I ran. I ran with my giant Portmanteau Nana bag. I ran until I couldn't breathe. My teeth hurt and my heels hurt and I ran. I remember from a science class in middle school that if your body doesn't get enough oxygen, some sort of acid takes over or something. That was happening. Over these moments, I was thinking to myself a few eloquent, poetic things, like, Get the fuck outta my way, I should be in better shape, This never would've happened on JetBlue, People who run for fun are insane goddamn masocists, This is probably the worst possible time to be hungover. I almost vomited on the man at the gate and can barely get out between gasps for air- Did it leave? The plane was scheduled to depart at 8:40 and I arrived at 8:37. No joke. I missed it.

There's nothing I can do except wait until I get to the bathroom to start sobbing uncontrollably. I pull myself together as some woman said,"Honey, I don't know what's wrong, but I'm sure it'll be okay." I said, "I missed my plane." It was the last plane to Maine for the night.

I go to the help desk. Other people from my San Francisco flight are there, and I'm irritated to be directed to a phone and not a person. I find another woman trying to get to Maine, and I try to listen in to see what they offer her. I'm told to get back to the front of the line.

In a moment of desparation, I try to fly to Boston. The woman at the help desk is definitely neither listening nor helpful. She tells me I'm going to need to hurry to make the Boston flight, and I nearly tell her to go fuck herself. I get to the gate and realize that there isn't going to be a bus leaving Boston for Portland at midnight. So I go to the help desk.

Yolande is really helpful, and gives me food and hotel vouchers. I'm staying at the Comfort Inn, there's a shuttle, and I'll have a bed, shower and be back in time to take my Marine Biology Lab quiz at 12. I take my food voucher to the Chili's, because who knows if there's ~~a bar~~ food at the Comfort Inn. I meet a guy from Tampa, who looks like he's got some great stories, but I'm too tired, hungover, dehydrated, hungry and under-caffinated to care. I have half a turkey club, two margaritas, and make my way to the shuttle.

At 11 p.m. I'm in my hotel room. It's clean and inoffensive. I'd been in transit since 7 a.m. and I find on my ticket itenernary that Yolande is sending me to the wrong Portland. I call Delta. Apparently it's right Portland on my ticket, but not my itenerary. I get barely four hours of sleep, because I need to get on a shuttle at 4:30. In the morning.

My flights from both Atlanta to Laguardia and Laguardia to Portland are delayed,and I just about lost it- just about everything that could've gone wrong did. Luckily I make both flights, arrive in town at 12, and despite missing my biology quiz, I was happy to be home.

Road Trip Update: Vegas, baby!

2010-10-30T00:56:00.000-04:00

There's something really amazing about watching the sun set over the mountains/desert of Nevada. Kate and I sang Jenny Lewis songs at the top of our lungs (sidenote about the movie of my life: at one point, all the the influential women in my life will come to me in a dream and give me advice in their own words and they will all actually guest star in the move: Chrissie Hynde, Oprah, Jenny Lewis, Terry Gross, Sarah Jessica Parker. I would like to be played by Zooey Deshanel. Ah! I digress... ) After a weird stop at the Hoover Dam, it was dark and the visitor center was closed, it was a very short drive to Vegas. Quotes from Kate: "If this wasn't the Hoover Dam, I'd think those people were smoking pot." "They need some Stadium lights up in this bitch."

Las Vegas is in valley in the desert, and when you approach the city at night, the entire city's lights glitter for miles. It glitters. It got me thinking about how a city can function solely on the tourism industry... schools, grocery stores, doctors, lawyers, government agencies, landscapers, vendors for things like food, clothing, napkins and shit. It's not just people working in the hotels, or strippers. Kate had been to Vegas a number of times before, but I decided to take charge booking the hotel. I decided on the Monte Carlo, because they had an advertisement for Mini Kiss on their website. Mini Kiss is a Kiss cover band comprised of midgets. As for Walter, we snuck her in a zippered L.L. Bean boat and tote bag, and I put a disposable kitty litter pan in my own giant bag. It was pretty seamless. On our way out the next morning, the cleaning ladies were in the hall- we just dropped the kitty pan in their cart and no one was the wiser.

My fantasies about Vegas were probably formed from watching an infinite number of sitcom television shows and romantic comedies- I've always wanted to elope in Vegas, and to be wed by an Elvis impersonator. This is seriously, not a joke. One of my other fantasies included walking down the strip in either a glitter dress, or stretch pants. But our plan was more like, get dressed in reasonably normal clothes (actually, I did end up wearing leggings.) Kate and I got ready to the new episode of Modern Family, and I was excited for a hot shower, then head out. The view of the Strip from our room was awesome.

Upon leaving the hotel, I realized two things: 1) People in Vegas are relentless. There are all these people trying to push things on you, like crazy Mexican men trying to give you cards with the phone numbers of prostitutes (I wonder who pays these guys? The pimps? A temp agency? Plus, I'm not gay!) 2) Kate and I were among the most attractive women walking around the Strip that Wednesday night- everyone else was either old, part of a touristy looking couple, or both. We came to this realization because of all the crazy people trying to get us in their club, enticing us with cheap drinks or free admission, and because some wicked scary voice from behind asked, "You ladies goin' clubbin?" I literally ran down the stairs, faster than a speeding bullet. My feet have never moved that fast- I was like Fred Astaire. Get it!? This freaked out Kate because of the size of the heel on my boot. Close call, creepy dude. (I just asked Kate if she saw his face and she said she did and it was so scary she doesn't want to talk about it, that those were some empty eyes.)

We hit some hotels and shopping centers and settle on the Ballagio. I say settle like it wasn't the setting for Ocean's 11 and I didn't know that the rooms were insanely expensive and out of our price range. My mom taught me how to play Black Jack during the Ice Storm of '98, so I bellied up and bought in to the table like it was no big deal. Kate said that I should only order bottled beer from the cocktail waitresses (drinks are free when you gamble), because everything else is watered down. Well! I got a vodka-soda, sucked it down, then a bourbon on the rocks and sucked it down, to prove that they were, in fact, not watered down. Surprise! I lost my winnings, got drunk, and the Epic Meltdown of 20-10 happened.

We walked across the street to a bar/casino called O'Shea, or O'Shay's or something. It was an Irish bar, and Kate immediately says she doesn't like it because she doesn't like Boston. Although I can't quite articulate why this made me so incredibly angry, and I'm not going to go into detail about the ridiculous things I said at that time or try and explain myself and the logic behind the crazy things I said. But I will defend Boston and my Beantown pride, though I'm not actually from there, now, because I'm sober.

In elementary school, field trips to the aquarium were always really exiting. Boston was the place we always had to drive to in high school to see the best bands. Boston was the place we all dreamed about going to college in- the big city, and they are a serious college town. In college, I got my first piercing in Boston. There are no major sporting teams in Maine, we've got the Sox, the Patriots and Celtics- Boston teams. Before I started drinking beer, and before I knew what microbrews were, I always thought I'd drink Sam Adams, the Boston lager. Flying to the West Coast or internationally, it's usually cheaper to fly out of Boston. We didn't have a city in Maine, which is part of why Maine is the glorious place it is, so we have to live vicariously through Boston. If I'm alone, travelling and lonely, and I find there's someone from anywhere in New England or someone wearing a Sox hat, I immediately feel comforted. People in Massachusetts have summer homes in Maine, and hell, Maine used to be PART of Massachusetts. I love Boston, even today.

Kate and I made up, well, she chose to ignore my wildly inappropriate behavior and even though she'd only had three Coronas and I was drunk and sleepy, we went to bed. She cashed out of the casino that night with almost $100, so it wasn't a total loss. The next morning as we were checking out, I ran into a couple that I recognized from the Portland Jetport on Monday morning. I couldn't help but ask them, "Excuse me, are you on vacation? Oh, can I ask from where? ME TOO! I thought I'd recognized you two from the airport!" Small world. Next stop: bowling and tacos with Craig Hildebrand.

Road Trip Update: Days Two and Three

2010-10-29T22:23:00.000-04:00

Austin was pretty great- Kate's friend Matty was nice enough to pick us up at the airport in one of the biggest trucks I've ever seen, probably from 1981. It had a killswitch and a carborated engine. Welcome to Texas, where everything is bigger (especially the trucks and the bugs.)

After a few last minute-moving errands, we walked by the legendary Emo's, where a bunch of kids were waiting for some new it band to go on. Clearly, it was an all ages show- it was like Hot Topic exploded on the sidewalk. We got BBQ at Stubb's for Kate's last Austin meal. On the menu there was fried okra, which I've never had before. Actually, I wasn't sure if I'd ever seen an okra before. Trips like this help me remember that although I'm pretty open minded, my Portland life, though awesome, is sheltered. The pulled pork was as good as expected. Kate picked something up off of the side plate of pickles and onions and took a big bite. She thought was an okra, and in an effort to enlighten me to the vegetables I'd been living without, took a big bite. It was some sort of chili pepper, hotter than a jalapeno, and she had a breakdown. Kate doesn't eat spicy. Her mouth was on fire and her lips were burning and she didn't know what to do. I pushed some bread at her and tried really hard not to laugh.

We hung out at a bar in Austin called Liberty, which served these great chicken buns. It kind of reminded me of Amigo's meets the Downtown Lounge, plus a million stickers. Kate pointed out a bar Bill Murray surprise bartended at during South by Southwest last year. I'd absolutely lose my shit if I walked into a bar and Bill Murray just so happened to be there. Maybe I need to get out of Portland more often.

The car is packed so full that there is literally no room for us, anything else, to go boxes. Walter keeps walking around in circles from the blankets in the backseat to my shoulders, to my lap, to the dashboard, to Kate's lap, back to the backseat. There are Dairy Queens in every town we drive through.

In one memorable stop for gas in Coleman, Texas, a really old man with a gaping open mouth and a ten gallon cowboy hat, asked us how far we were moving. I said San Francisco. He said, “Well gee, that's clear out the County!” Coleman had a slightly desolate main street, where we found lunch at the Owl General Store Soda Fountain and Grill. All of the store fronts had Go Bluecats messages written in their windows, and I realized this was the kind of town Varsity Blues is supposed to take place in. The kind of place where everyone goes to high school together, and everyone stays in the town, and the social structure stays the same because no one leaves and no one new arrives. To quote James Van Der Beek, “I don't want your life.” The food was pretty good- Kate decided to get the chilli cheese burger, blacked out, came to, and had eaten the whole thing. I got a chicken salad sandwich, which wasn't as good, I'm sure, but at least I didn't want to die after.
I drove a car for the first time in six months and I didn't kill us. I'm following Katie Kearn's two rules of driving: Don't hit anything, and don't get hit by anything.

At some point, I started telling Kate that sometimes I have fantasies about the movie of my life. Whitesnake's “Here I Go Again” came on the Pandora station. I've decided that in the montage of me doing things by myself, bowling, coming home to an empty mailbox, table for one, walking down the street alone, etc, in the scene right before I meet the person I'm going to be with for the rest of my life, (the movie of my life is a romantic comedy with a happy ending,) “Here I Go Again” will be the backing track for the montage.

If Kate's life were a movie, right now, Walter the cat would be her daughter, and Kate would be a single mother played by Susan Surandon in the 80s, with a perm and a white tank top. Since she's been picking up and moving so much, (three times in the last year), there'd be a lot of empty promises and excuses and apologies for a better life. “This time, we're really gonna settle, Walter. San Francisco is real nice, and I bet you're gonna make some great friends. I just know it.” Kate's movie is a little bit less literal, but still has a happy ending.

Driving through West Texas to New Mexico can get pretty barren (though there are some scenic parts and I can't believe how big the sky is out there.) Kate really needed to pee, there was nothing in sight, so I pulled over. She said that her vag was going to get bit by a rattlesnake, and I was supposed to watch Walter, our cat friend making the journey with us. I forgot to keep an eye on her, because I got a text message. She escaped, and almost disappeared into the desert of New Mexico to live off of cactus water and armadillos before becoming totally feral.

Albuquerque was great, also, and it was nice to see Andy and meet all of his friends. His roommate and his friends are really well read, and have a lot to talk about. They have a pomegranite tree in their back yard, and cooked us a delicious meal. We went to a metal show at a bar with a stage that had a mural of some palm trees behind it. Epic.

More updates soon.

Road Trip Day One Update

2010-10-26T20:50:00.001-04:00

Trip thusfar has been reasonably uneventful- although my cab driver from work last night tried to have me critique his poetry, and my cab driver this morning got all philsophical about life being too short to be unhappy. Zen and the Art of Cab Driving?

I had three hours of sleep and managed to board the plane forgetting only my belt (actually, Mandy's, sorry) at security.

I always fantacize about working as a flight attendant, then I remember I'd have to like, save people if we crashed. I like critiquing business men's suits and briefcases and how fast they're walking, making eye contact with cute guys, people watching in general. I always wonder if I'm seeing people who are on their way to or from a funeral.

I fell asleep listening to the audiobook Rock On: An Office Power Ballad by Dan Kennedy, though I think that has less to do with the book, more with my lack of sleep. Then Grown Ups with Adam Sandler and an all-star supporting cast came on, and I'm not embarassed to say I laughed a lot. Good ol' family friendly slapstick.

Anyway, I write this entry because something terrible happened, actually. Worse than the time Darcy and I were getting drunk at the airport bar and almost missed our flight. Worse than the time I climbed over the sleeping man- I felt bad waking him so I sort of straddled him and made my way to the bathroom- he got a facefull of boob and when we landed he told me, "I didn't sleep a wink!" Worse
than a baby or a snorer or snakes...

I think someone pooped their pants. Or sharted. Really, it's so potent I want to gag. But I can't say anything, because you smelt it you dealt it. There's no way it's the toilet because the toilet is all the way on the other side of the plane. Seriously, this is an airtight, pressurized cabin a.k.a. stale, stagnent air. I want to vomit.

See you in a week, Portland!

2010-10-25T01:02:00.000-04:00

In just a few hours, I'm about to embark with the fantastic Kate Digby Skinner, on the Epic Road Trip 20-10.

I've been on an epic road trip once before, with the fantastic Mandy Lou Wheeler. Highlights included: Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, rival school football game, meeting new people, cool kids in Denver, consignment stores in Denver, Mandy's family, all of the rock and roll shows, Bridget's hospitality, Halloween in SF, the drive from SF to LA, going to my first Hooters, the whole drive home, staying in random motels, getting lost, cotton fields, coming home. Lowlights included: not knowing how to drive the stickshift, having so much stuff with us, fighting all those fights about everything, losing my debit card on the first day, homesickness. We were gone for, no joke, 40 days, and 40 nights.

This year, older, wiser, and boozier, I'm looking forward to a few things: Vegas for the first time (stretch pants?) I probably won't elope and be wed by an Elvis impersonator, like I've always envisioned my first trip to Vegas including, but stranger things have happened. I've made some playlists, including dance mixes, podcasts and audiobooks for the car, and I can drive the car this time. I haven't seen Kate in months, and I've been feeling like I direly need a vacation (if only you'd have read all of the depressing discarded drafts of blogs I've been starting with things like, I feel like Eeyore today.) The only thing I'm not looking forward to is missing everyone at home, including my cat, and the fact that the trip is so short.

Updates soon, from the road, hopefully. I'm getting in a cab in three and a half hours. Sunnufabeotch.

Just another Monday night...

2010-10-18T22:59:00.000-04:00

My new approach to dating is to just sit back and see what happens. Good for life, not as good for blogging. When I decided to post this tonight, I considered the fact that I have to be aware of how many Baby stories I post, just so that I don't start seeming like some sort of lonely, crazy cat lady.

Okay, so, you already know that my cat is a little bit crazy and I'm kind of, well, disorganized, right?

I was at the Front Room for lunch today (seriously, I should just open my wallet and dump it in that guy's pocket,) and I decided to finish listening to the podcast of This American Life after I got to the bar. I didn't feel that weird about wearing headphones, I'm in there often enough, and it was a shift change for the staff anyway. But I did feel weird about the bartender who did not serve me grabbing the napkin I used to wipe my dirty BLT hands off then rub some boogers off my nose. So I stuck it in my bag and forgot about it.

A few hours later, Angela and I were going out to the grocery store, and as I was checking to made sure my wallet was in fact where it should be and had all of the necessary contents, the crumpled dirty napkin fell on the floor. In the bustle for me to find my shoes, jacket, reusable grocery bags, Baby finds the napkin on the floor and starts clawing it and rubbing her face on it. I don't know how or why she was doing this, but I sort of forgot about it on our way out. Anglea, btw, thought there it was like, covered in my perfume or something. Perfume, really? I'm lucky if I remember deodorant.

Once we return from the grocery store, I'm in full-on cooking mode, since we needed to eat immediately, and I still didn't call the oil company, so our heat isn't on. The napkin was ancient history. I decided to make a quick pizza, beef stew and apple crisp to warm us up. Angela, who usually does most of the cooking (or Rebecca, who is house-sitting tonight,) cozies up to the table with the new issue of Real Simple magazine, a glass of wine, and starts changing her toenail polish. It's where the heat is, after all.

Disaster strikes when Angela knocks her hot pink polish on the floor. She's grumbling and I'm still sort of busy chopping and shit, when I hear her say over my Dr. Dog Pandora station, "Luckily, there was a paper towel right there." I go into survival mode and yell, "AH! NO! I BLEW MY NOSE IN THAT!" Really, it was more of a wipe than a full-on blow, Angela gets super disgusted and throws it away. She needs to wipe the spill before the polish dries, and she does so while commenting on how incredibly strange it was that the cat was essentially rubbing her face all over my boogers.

The best part is that on her way out of the kitchen she gives me a distainful, disgusted, disapproving sidelong glance and says, "You two have a weird relationship."

Stoli Razz and Soda, Please

2010-10-11T13:13:00.000-04:00

I've been really lucky when it comes to jobs, and that's especially true at Bayside Bowl. I can't say enough how great it is, everyone I work with is awesome, my customers rule, blah blah blah. One of the many perks is that I get one free meal for every shift I work, and I'm usually compelled to wind down with an adult beverage once I clock out. If you, my readers, haven't already gathered that I drink a lot, I'm telling you now: I drink a lot. My lifestyle lends it self well to this sort of behavior.

At Bayside Bowl, we take our liquor seriously and our attitudes about liquor even more seriously. Our beer selection is extensive, featuring tons of craft beers, from here and away, but also favorite imports like Guinness, Heineken and Corona. As far as liquor, we have plenty of scotches and bourbons, as though bowling is such a sophisticated business. We probably sell more Courvoisier and Tuaca than any one bar in the entire state. But for me, even more enjoyable than a Shipyard Export or a Bulleit bourbon, is my dress size. From time to time, if I'm having a drink for the purpose of relaxing, I'll grab a vodka-soda, the low-sugar, low-cal, less-gross alternative to light beer. Even better than a vodka-soda, though, is a flavored vodka. I don't get all crazy with the blueberries or the passion fruits, just a simple Stoli O or Razz from time to time.

This was a secret from everyone at Bayside Bowl for a long time. It took us months to start carrying Stoli Razz, and that's only because it was insisted that we carry it for a private function. Before that, anyone who tried to order a flavored vodka was met with (thoughts of) pity or contempt. I would secretly sympathize, offer a splash of cranberry juice or a margarita. Then, last Friday, I went for it. I ordered a Stoli Razz and soda. I asked Nathan, the Handsome, Talented Photographer moonlighting as Awesomest Bar Manager Ever, to be cool about it. He knows I'm not a Midori-sour kind of a girl, he knows I'm cool when it comes to brews, but he can't help but totally make fun of me, extremely loud, and I don't blame him. "AMANDA! HOW IS THAT STOLI RAZZ? ARE YOU ENJOYING YOUR STOLI RAZZ?" All of a sudden I'm no longer hip-staff member charming customers and coworkers alike, I'm that girl asking, "Do you have blueberry vodka?"

My drink is awesome. It goes down fast, as I'm telling a new coworker all about my recent lovelife drama. The owner asks me if I want a refill, and I nod, cringing, "OMG, does he know that I got the Stoli Razz?" (Yes, I speak to myself in acronyms from time to time.) And he goes, Tanqueray and tonic? And I'm like, yessss! He doesn't know.

At this point, I decide that I'd really like to bowl. (I usually bowl alone.) And I also decide that I'd like one more Stoli Razz and lemonade, which I ordered through my laneside server. This is what came:

It was so ridiculous, so many garnishes, I couldn't even look at it, let alone drink it.

The rest of the night consisted of a few bowling games of diminishing scores, despite encouraging cheers from the next lane over. I called a cab, since it's not safe to walk home alone at one o'clock in the morning, let alone tispy on gin and flavored vodka.The cab seems to be taking longer than normal, so I go back inside to use the restroom. When I come back out, a group of drunk people are trying to get into my cab and I find myself yelling and running down the stairs, "NO! NO! NO! Get out! That's my cab! No! No! Get out!" Luckily, for me, they did, because those girls were a lot bigger than me. The cab driver and I laughed about it and tipped him well.

Public Market Confessional

2010-10-08T12:04:00.000-04:00

I've been thinking about the importance of the blog in my life, whether it's ridiculous that I'm doing this at all, and the consequences of sharing a lot of personal information on the internet. It's both empowering, and increases my vulnerability, but not quite as vulnerable as the result of this chance meeting the other day...

I met a friend for coffee. We'll call him, Frank, because Frank is like my favorite name and he's like my favorite guy. He's 43, and has a pretty good handle on things. I tell him about my life, he gives me honest and useful feedback. It's great. We met up at the Public Market House, a place I haven't seen much of since Kate Digby Skinner left.

It had been a few months since we'd caught up, and I had a lot to talk about. Mostly my love life- a lot about what I'm looking for, what's gone wrong in the past. I'm literally, pouring my heart out, talking about my insecurities and my frustrations and details about my renewed singledom. And this guy sits down right behind me, who I know from karaoke. I don't know him well, just a familiar face attached to a name. I karaoked a Todd Rundgren song once, and he really liked it, which is basically all of our interactions at this point. It seems like the best idea for me is to try and ignore him, that way, I can continue my earnest conversation.

This guy gets up to leave after about an hour, and Frank makes eye contact. He and Frank have an awkward interaction for about a second, when Frank motions to me, then points to this guy. THANKS, FRANK! I give a half smile to be polite, say something about how it's a small town and it's nice to see him, and turn back to my conversation.

A bit later, Frank and I leave, deciding to meet up in a few weeks. This guy, however, shows up at Bayside Bowl a few nights later, walks straight up to me and confesses that he couldn't help but listen to everything I said, once he realized it was me. There was honestly, no more than four inches between the back of my chair and the back of his chair. What was I supposed to do? Ask him what exactly he heard and his thoughts? That seemed even worse than the awkward interaction we were already having. Apologize that he overheard? Ask him to not tell anyone? It wasn't my fault, I was there first. He should've kept to himself the fact that he was eavesdropping. It was none of his business, and Frank owes me big time- if he didn't initiate an interaction between the two of us, he wouldn't have been able to tell me he heard anything, because I could've maintained that I didn't know he was there. I know I can be pretty candid, but there were a lot of things I said in the confines of that coffeeshop I don't want just want just anyone to know. It was LiveJournal kind of shit.

At one point, Frank had asked me why I don't go out with that guy, since he clearly likes me by the way he was awkwardly standing there waiting to get my attention (Frank's words, not mine.) I brush him off, because I don't find this guy attractive, in the least. So he asked, why not? The answer isn't lengthy or complicated, I just don't, which led to me explaining in great detail how I might not know what I want in a potential life partner, because I believe people can be compatible in a lot of ways, but I have a pretty decent idea of what I don't want. Frank thinks I should use the blog as a platform for advertising these qualifications, but then pointed out that it's possible the blog could be standing in the way of my quest for true love. My thoughts are, it's a silly, irrelevant blog. And you know what else? Blogging is a lot like writing!

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Emoji? Emoj-you!

2010-10-07T22:52:00.001-04:00

Mandy and I have become obsessed with emoji, and it's actually kind of sick.

I'm not sure if you can see what these are, but I'll try: fax machine, gavel, ghostie, red balloon, trophie, coffee, cheers, martini, ramen, pasta, eggplant, merecat?, whale, octopus, six smiley faces of varying horrific emotions, okay, praise the lord, look up, rainbow, bicycle, barber shop, mailbox, clock, "Ok," "fast forward," "rewind," "Cool."

Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner

2010-10-01T14:01:00.000-04:00

Have I talked about my cat, Baby? Originally, I was torn between naming her Penelope Whitmore and Beyonce, in the meantime called her Baby, and it stuck. Although I adopted her as an adult, her name was Miss T, and it had to be changed. No daughter of Mr. T would be hanging out at my house.

She's can't meow properly. And she's absolutely insane, like, will unpredictably lash out at people. Well, people other than me, partially because I'm the center of her universe, her one true love, the hand that feeds her. I can also tell when she's in a bad mood and might lash out. Anyway, she is also a really great snuggler, and has killed a mouse or two in her day, so I keep her around, cock block or not. My roommates have been really patient in regards to the cat, for example, not flipping out if she scratches one of their friends. I guess nobody puts Baby in the corner.

A few minutes ago, I was sitting in the kitchen, working on a paper, and the door to Rebecca's room opened. This kind of thing really freaks me out, I mean really. Then the internet stopped working. I went into the other room an gchatted Angela:

me: did you get my last chat?

rebecca's door just opened by itself.

then the internet stopped working.

WHAT THE FUCK

Angela: I responded...it's the wind!

me: the wind made the internet stop working??

i'm thoroughly freaked the fuck out.

baby seems to be cool, though, so i guess it can't be a serious ghost.

Angela: Yeh, I would trust baby...if there was something super-natural in there, she'd be clinging to the ceiling fan.

me: or trying to attack it.

Then I posted on Rebecca's wall and said, Um, your door just opened by itself and then the internet stopped working. Be honest, are you hiding a ghost in your room? You KNOW I'm like, really scared of ghosts.

Rebecca: You probably know I don't believe in ghosts, so, how could I hide something I don't believe in in my room? (Cue a bunch of really boring stories about how someone swears they saw a ghost once.)

Rebecca: Maybe your cat attacked and killed someone and they're hiding out in my giant closet? That's more plausible.

Angela: Guess I should call Cole [her boyfriend] and make sure he's still alive.

Brass In Pocket

2010-09-30T11:49:00.002-04:00

Have I ever mentioned how awesome Chrissie Hynde is? I learned all about her from Mandy, and really, at the time, Mandy was kind of obsessed. Actually, that's an understatement. She spent a lot of time on the Talk of the Town Pretenders Official Fan Club message board, and met a ton of Pretenders super-fans from all over the country. She scored these crazy awesome 1980s tee shirts and had them altered to fit her teeny teenage body. Even her email password was a Pretenders lyric. In her defense, nothing I was into back then was nearly as cool as Chrissie Hynde, and she started this obsession when she was like, 15. We've been to her hometown, saw the official Pretenders archive, and found places to stay through the Pretenders network on our epic cross country road trip of 2003. We've seen Chrissie together twice, and I'm sure she's got a few more without me and we're actually going to be seeing her perform tonight in Portsmouth. It reminded me of this one time we had a birthday party at Bull Moose for Chrissie.

Every year on September 7th I think to myself, "Why is this an important date?" I'm terrible at remembering birthdays, every year I have to call my mom and ask her to remind me what my father's birthday is, and they've been divorced for ten years. September 7th is Chrissie Hynde's birthday, and one year, possibly 2002, Mandy, Hilla and I were all working, and it was a Sunday. I think on these days we were open from 10-6, so it was eight hours of pure, unadultered Pretenders. She brought in t-shirts for us to wear, made a banner that said Happy Birthday Chrissie! and threw a party for her idol resembling her own birthday parties growing up. She is an only child, afterall.

Hillary and I were pretty good sports about the whole thing. We told anyone who'd listen about the Pretenders, and played the Pretenders discography from beginning to end. It was a long day. The customer base at Bull Moose Lewiston was mostly high school kids in the surrounding area, the occasional Batesy, a lot of numetal dudes, some DJ-types, and the oldie-but-goodie crowd, who were just venturing into the short lived world of compact discs, desperately in need of that Connie Francis album their mom used to play. There weren't a whole lot of people who were into the alternative 80's scene, so our Pretenders preaching was falling on mostly deaf ears, except this one guy, Dave. Dave was probably the only customer who cared about the Pretenders at all, and he'd always say that he saw Chrissie open for the Stones back in the 80s (or whatever, I was a fetus) and that she blew him away. "Not a lot of musicians can hold their own when opening for the Stones. She was hot." He came in frequently, was enthusiastic, and could take a joke. He was kind of a middle aged guy, and I seem to remember him wearing an Grateful Dead tee. I had no idea what he did for work, or much about him, but one of my coworkers once spotted him coming out of the Blue Goose in the middle of the day. The Blue Goose is an infamous dive bar in Lewiston. At the time I had never drank, didn't really understand the reasons a person could be coming out of a bar during the day, so I thought, whoa, what an alcoholic! Now, as a person who's been known to do that very thing, I think, whoa! I wonder how early they open. All day Mandy was looking forward to Dave coming in. She left for fifteen minutes to grab us coffee, and she missed him. He walked in the store, Hilla and I just burst out laughing, knowing full well that Mandy was going to miss him, and she was going to be incredibly irritated and disappointed to not be able to talk to the one person who she thought would truly understand her excitement. Sure enough, she walks in, we tell her she missed and and a string of "What the fucks" come out of her mouth intermittently for the next hour or so.

What happened that day, though, even more than her and I almost fucking dying driving to Connecticut in a Nor'easter, because she spent $80 a piece on this Foxwoods concert, was that her love for Chrissie was seriously tested. I'm a fan, I genuinely like the Pretenders. I'm into the first three albums, Pretenders, Pretenders II and Learning to Crawl. I can listen to these albums from beginning to end, and thoroughly enjoy them. But sometime in the 90s, Chrissie lost some of the zsa-zsa-zu that made her so awesome and her songs so captivating. Since it was the Unofficial Chrissie Hynde Tribute day, and we had to play all of the albums back to back, even the bad ones from the 90s... And Mandy had a meltdown. We were all feeling a little punchy, probably because of the ridiculousness of the situation. We begged her to stop playing this particular album, it was so terrible. On principle, she made us keep in on. But couldn't disagree that it was really bad. I remember her laughing hysterically at herself, rolling around on the floor, surrounded by Chrissie tribute banners, t-shirts, etc, and saying that this album in question wasn't just the worst Pretenders album, it was the worst album she'd ever heard. But she kept it on.

Brass in Pocket, their first single. Well, second after their cover of the Kink's Stop Your Sobbing, isn't a great example of their best stuff, but I sing it at karaoke sometimes. I'm not trying to tell you I think I'm special, I'm trying to channel our love for Chrissie.

The Worst Date Ever

2010-09-25T14:07:00.000-04:00

In response to a recent post about the second to the worst date ever, some of you have inquired about the worst date ever. Here it is:

I was 17. I'd never met or dated anyone I'd just randomly met. In my innocent, virgin, straightedge mind, dates consisted of ice cream sundaes and holding hands in a movie theater. He was handsome, for a dude-bro, and he came by Bull Moose to pick up a Spoon album. I walked him over to the section and said, "Girls Can Tell?" and he responded, while leaning his body towards mine, "I don't know, can they?" I blushed, ran away, and he asked me for my phone number. He worked at the Gap, and his best friend in high school (two years ahead of me, from across the river) was dating the head cheerleader/class vice president from my class. Maybe I thought this was going to be some sort of 'She's All That' kind of nerd makeover story or something.

We agreed to meet at my job at a specified time, since this was almost ten years ago and not everyone had cell phones yet. He was an hour late, and made no apologies, no excuses. I pretended not to notice, since I didn't know what else to do. He used the bathroom at the store, then again two or three times when we went to Friendly's for ice cream and grilled cheese. I think I also saw him pop some pills. He's still cute, but we don't have anything to talk about, and his behavior is not normal.

I suggest we go to the movies. We get there, and we've missed all of the shows by five minutes. Not a problem. Even back then I had my finger on the pulse, so I suggest an indie hip-hop show at Bates. (His interest in Spoon was a fluke. This guy was way more WBLM than WRBC.) We arrive and the show doesn't start for another hour and a half. I'm baffled. He uses the bathroom again, then suggests we just go for a drive, normal small-town teenager passtime stuff. We were in separate cars up until this point, but he volunteers to drive. Why the fuck was he peeing so much?

We're out over by the Lake, and I'm assuming he's just going to take us on a nice drive around the lake, something we do sometimes when we get bored. But then he turns right, down a wooded, unpaved road. There's a road closed sign. I start to panic a little. My mom had no idea where I was, in fact, no one knew where I was or who this guy was. He keeps driving and I'm seeing signs like, "Road Closed in .5 Mile, Turn Back Now!" "Where the Hell do you think you're going? ROAD CLOSED, Dummy!" I started getting really scared.

He parked the car in front of some blockades and leaves the car to pee again. I wonder how lost I'd get in the woods and how far exactly I was from Route 4 if I tried to make a run for it. This wasn't part of the Girl Scout curriculum. The woods were pitch black and if he didn't murder me out there, I figured there was a pretty good chance I'd get eaten by some wild monster/animal (Did I mention I'm scared of the dark, sometimes?) It'd probably take them weeks to find my body. He went in for the kiss. I don't remember specifics, except it was the worst kiss of my life. We made out for a few minutes and I'm seriously regretting putting myself in the situation. He makes a move for my belt buckle, and I push his hand away three times. The fourth time, I stop and tell him flat out, "I'm not going to have sex with you, I'm a virgin." He was really surprised, but got the point, and we headed back in town.

Finally, we arrive at Bates, he pees again and pops another pill, and I'm glad I'm alive and able to focus my attention somewhere other than this creepshow. We stay for about half an hour, I tell him I'm tired and we leave. He kisses me goodbye, tells me he'll call, but he doesn't.

This guy came into the store again once or twice, a year later, and I pretended I didn't know him. There are a few lessons to be learned from this story: tell someone where you're going, meet at a public place, have a cell phone, and remove yourself from a situation as soon as you start feeling uncomfortable. Crazy, huh?

The Birds

2010-09-21T13:52:00.000-04:00

One of my favorite places to study on campus is the reading room on the seventh floor of the library. It's modern, it's sunny, there's recessed lighting and comfortable chairs... and it's completely silent. Occasionally, I'll drop off my books in a corner of the room, grab my wallet and phone, (probably not the best idea, now that I'm remembering my marine biology book was $187,) then walk over to Hannaford for some lunch. There is food available on campus, but Hannaford is no further away and they have fresh produce, sushi... and a hot wing bar.

Today, I was on the phone with Angela Pizzo, balancing the phone between my ear and shoulder, holding my food container in one hand, and eating BBQ chicken bites with the other. I think I talk to Angela three or four times a day, so it's a surprise that we have anything to talk about. She is getting another call, so I hang up, and decide I'll go sit on the Back Bay, finish my lunch, and wait for her to call back. It's a beautiful, sunny day, we're at a mid-tide, so there's plenty of blue water to focus my gaze on.

Crossing that part of Baxter Blvd, where there is no crosswalk, is pretty dangerous. The road is curved, cars tend to drive fast, and I'm fairly certain that I'll die at the hands of a motor vehicle one way or another, so I just dart across the street when I see the chance, open food container in hand (can't live in fear.)

Except, as soon and I crossed onto the lawn, I was immediately swarmed by seagulls. No joke, probably about twenty. When I realized they had realized I had food, I didn't know what was scarier: The thought of getting pooped on, or the thought of them pecking my lunch out of my hands. So I closed the container, and darted back in front of traffic, followed by a dwindling amount of birds. I am so proud of myself for not screaming.

It reminds me of the time I was at Willard Beach and this woman was losing her patience with her three year old son: If you don't put your snack away... the seagulls... they will come... and they will poop on your head!!

Havana Nights

2010-09-19T15:10:00.000-04:00

This is from the "live blogging" session I told many of you about, which took place outside of 51 Wharf. Enjoy!

On my way over, I saw a girl in a LBD and five in heels half walking half jogging. She rolled her ankle five times. So I’m here, and I’m already kind of freaking out. I have to be OUTSIDE. Vulnerable to everyone’s.. stares and voices. I have a huge LL Bean Boat and Tote bag. I feel ridiculously out of place.

11:17 It seems like there is a line, but that some people are in fact VIPs. There’s a dance party errupting in the line. Two old northern Maine couples just walked out. They must’ve been lost. You gotta stand out- gold disco ball minidress dress. Hard to miss. Leave that Little Black Dress on the rack and go bold. $5 vodka red bulls. Mistake.

11:19 SUPER creepy man from the bus, about 45, long black hair, scowl, multiple facial peircings, tons of army surplus gear. He didn’t talk to me. First piggy back of the night. If you can’t walk in your shoes, don’t wear them. People on the phone outside of the club, craning their necks, trying to figure out if their friends are already in, scared to venture in alone.

11:30 More lost old people. Pack of men, seemingly no alpha-male making decisions- they’re looking lost. Camo hoodie guy- probably isn’t getting any tonight. Just saw the back of Kurt Cobain. Take a shower, man. I hear the DJ say something about ladies and shots. Troubling.

11:38 KILT!!!! Some guys is wearing a kilt. Smart girls wear wedges. DJ is playing Rhianna. Maybe sending the wrong message about violence against women. Some dude walks by holding a wine bottle. Inside the club I see a bottle of liquor on fire with a sparkler sticking out, and a cocktail waitress going around with blinking test tube shots. The noise level is rising.

11:44 Bachelorette in pink sparkly western hat almost wanders away from the rest of her party. Narrowly rescued. I accidentally make eye contact with a guy sporting a half sleeve tattoo. Embarrassing. PREGNANT LADY, NOOOOO!!!! Goatees abound. Girls trying to walk on this road is like they’re doing an impression of crabs walking on eggshells, which is directly related to how many cape cods they‘ve had.

11:50 Some girls in minidresses get escorted to the front of the line. I realize that hanging out here you’d never know Maine is one of the least diverse states, so many minorities everywhere. Now the music from Oasis and 51 Wharf are competing on the sidewalk. Who needs eardrums? I HEART BACON T-SHIRT! First barefoot woman. Inside the club, I see a bottle of liquor on fire with a sparkler sticking out, and a cocktail waitress going around with blinking test tube shots. The noise level is rising.

11:51 The line at the Oasis and the line at 51 Wharf have been alternating in length all night. I might be the only person out here wearing glasses. I’ve spotted a NorthFace bubble vest on the same night as short shorts and flip flops. I wonder how long into the season these girls will endure the cold. Someone almost talked to me, close call. You know a girl is drunk when she stumbles on her heels and she’s standing still. Noise Level is definitely rising. More confused New York hipsters, looking lost. Small Indian? man of about 60 in line with son? Old guy and son just switched shirts. Don’t understand. Is there a dress code, where you can’t have cut off sleeves and be old? Old man and son just seemed to have switched ids. Like the door guy won’t remember them from ten minutes ago? Old guy, who was apparently with young guy, got in the club and now young guy is wandering around. Very strange.

11:52 Kilt guy is back. Some hipsters going in, guess they have to dance it out, too. That’s the woman who flashed me her turquoise underwear last week. Over the knee boots chick is turning some serious heads. Don’t understand why she hasn’t just gone in yet. All of a sudden the line is full of really unattractive people.

12:01 Cops are circling, same cops from last week. It’s cooling off, so I go inside. The people at the table next to me are also gawking out the window. Disco ball dress chick is back, also turning heads. People are getting drunker and drunker stumbling out.

12:05: MECA student, spotted!

12:06 MECA student, walking swiftly in opposite direction. Lots of people smoking at this point. Really touchy Jamaican man with waist-length dreads who I waited on once walks by. Doesn’t see me. Cute couple, him with a blazer, her with a white button down, skinny jeans and a hobo bag… I want to tell them to get out of line because bad things will happen in there.

12:17 “I could never imagine wearing that in my entire life” overheard next to me. I decide to take off, even though I know there is serious madness to ensue. But I was tired and could only stay up if I had another beer but did not want another beer. So I went home. Then I missed some drunk dude asking the door guy at Havana Nights asking if Obama was in the building- because the door guy was wearing one of those ear pieces (I assume) the Secret Service wears. THEN some drunk girl gets arrested for punching a police officer in the face, and I missed that too.

Stay tuned for the related column in the Free Press.

2010-09-06T22:38:00.001-04:00

Disco Ice Cream and Other Dance Parties

2010-09-03T14:09:00.007-04:00

An old friend recently gave me a compliment in an email, and it inspired me to post these two videos. She said, "Ever since I met you it seems like you live your life in this amazing, warm-toned world where you're always doing cool things, and meeting interesting people and going on adventures." She's not wrong.

Mandy and I were buying ice cream and one of the lights in the cooler was flickering, like some sort of disco stage. There was only one thing to do.

Later that night, in fact, possibly inspired by the disco ice cream, we went over to Bubba's Sulky Lounge for the first time in months.

Please don't judge me for having dance moves equivalent to Billy Crystal's white man's overbite in When Harry Met Sally.

What's Your Favorite Music Genre?

2010-09-02T02:10:00.000-04:00

So, on the application for this work study position at the community radio station asks me to list my favorite genre of music, which is like asking me to pick a favorite type of food, or a favorite place to vacation or the five famous people living or dead I'd have dinner with. The possibilities for the answer of their question are so astounding, that I turned to my friends for answers via mass text. My specific distaste for this question has to do with working at three different record stores over the course of six years and KNOWING when someone says they like all music, it means they've really only ever heard what's on the radio. I wanted to tell those people I'd bet them all the money in the drawer that I could find something they didn't like. All of the answers were so awesome.

Q: "I'm applying for a work study job at WMPG. They're asking me to list my favorite genre of music. I've always thought this kind of question was bullshit. What do I do?"

A: "It is bullshit, but it's also just a work study job."

"Say rock and rollllll"

"Say all music except country and rap."

"Whatever you do, don't say anything but rap and country."

"Oh god, I hate that stuff too. Back when I was on the board at the radio station [at Bates] we really didn't read much into it, basically used it as a quick judge, eg, if someone liked adult alternative, we could immediately write them off. The best apps were the ones where people just listed bands they had listened to recently and were into."

"List a bunch of different ones- it'll show you have varied tastes..."

"Yacht Rock."

"Say local."

"Um, say you have broad taste in music and are a supporter of local artists?"

"Yeah, that sucks. Just putting 'indie' seems like a cop-out."

"BS, why? You don't have a favorite, or you don't expose yourself that way, or what? Usually that type of question is just meant to reveal some aspect of your humanity- which they'd probably like to see if you're going to work with them."

"Is this a mass text?" "I don't know, ask your bf."

"Pop." "Or pick something totally obscure, so they think they would be adding someone with a unique perspective...not that they wouldn't if they hired you, but you know."

"Being an asshole has always worked for me, so I would write: "Nothing you have ever heard of, you fucking square."

"Say something like, 'music that makes me think.' This ranges several genres."

"Blues rock." "No? Just a thought."

"Be honest! Add variety. I'm sure they're interested in the local music that you're into."

"Why don't you say, 'it's personal...more info available upon request.'"

"It's a freeform station - so go nuts. Alternatively, you could just write "chickens are people too."

"Eclectic is probably safe."

" I would write that you think this question is bullshit."

"just write "trolololololololololo"."

"Tell them you think it's horseshit, & that you should be paid as well. My favorite is "go fuck yourself" genre."

"How about something like "My first job was at a record store and I stayed there for four years, listening to practically everything. I've also made mixtapes that had successful transitions between Billie Holiday, Weezer, Snoop Dog, and Bruce Springsteen.""

Summer Lovin' 2010

2010-09-01T13:06:00.003-04:00

I just posted some pictures I took throughout summer, from the iPhone to my flickr.

Reggae Sunday at the Porthole. Who'da thought?

Hope you enjoy!