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.
October 26, 2010
October 25, 2010
See you in a week, Portland!
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.
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.
October 18, 2010
Just another Monday night...
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."
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."
October 11, 2010
Stoli Razz and Soda, Please
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:
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.
October 8, 2010
Public Market Confessional
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...
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!
...
October 7, 2010
Emoji? Emoj-you!
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."
October 1, 2010
Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner
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'
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.
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.
September 30, 2010
Brass In Pocket
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.
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.
September 25, 2010
The Worst Date Ever
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?
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?
September 21, 2010
The Birds
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!!
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!!
September 19, 2010
Havana Nights
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.
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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.
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.
.jpg)
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.
September 6, 2010
September 3, 2010
Disco Ice Cream and Other Dance Parties
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.
September 2, 2010
What's Your Favorite Music Genre?
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.""
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.""
September 1, 2010
Summer Lovin' 2010
I just posted some pictures I took throughout summer, from the iPhone to my flickr.
Hope you enjoy!
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| Reggae Sunday at the Porthole. Who'da thought? |
Hope you enjoy!
August 31, 2010
Why We Need a Second Bathroom at 46 Vesper
I guess I was a morning person when I worked at the coffeeshop. But in order to be ready to greet those super early customers I usually had to be awake for over an hour and at least two cups to be ready. Ever since my bowling job started, however, my schedule is completely flipped around, and I regularly stay up until two, two-thirty in the morning, which means I'll sleep until ten or so, then hit snooze. My mom told me a couple of months ago, which I had completely forgotten, that in high school, she used to wake me up in the morning, and if she didn't use the sweetest most ridiculously buttery voice I'd like, snap at her and grumble and not get up (this was b.c.- before coffee.)
Anyhow. I'm on the opposite schedule of my two lovely roommates, who both have relatively normal 9-5ish jobs. Which means if they're talking in the morning, putting dishes in the sink, RUNNING THE BLENDER, there is a chance I'll wake up. I only say the blender part because I woke up to a blender running at like, 8 a.m. once, got really mad since I'd never dream of running the blender at 2 a.m. when I got home, then got up out of bed to tell Rebecca that she was completely out of her mind for blending things at that hour, only to find out that she'd been doing it like every day and this day in particular I woke up because I happened to forget to put my fan on.)
So... there's this new guy. We met at the bowling alley. If you're a chick and you're lookin' for love, the bowling alley is a dude magnet. It's been a lot of fun, hanging out with this new guy, and when I asked him how he felt about me posting this story, he got really excited and wanted to pick a nickname. Sorry, New Guy, that's not how it works. Can't pick your own nickname. This was a refreshing change from, "Amanda. Under no circumstance are you ever allowed to ever post anything about me." The other night he spent the night, which yeah, very scandalous. He had to be at work at 9. I can't form sentences before 10. What happened next was more activity than I've experienced in the house, possibly ever.
Normally, Angela happens to be in the bathroom getting ready when New Guy wakes up, around 8:15. Not knowing she was in there, since the door was clearly open, New Guy gets up, not wearing pants, and says, "Oh, you're in the in between stages of getting ready for your day, huh?" Angela is luckily a lot more coherent in the morning, so she responds with a smile and says she'll be done in a second. Then Cole, Angela's boyfriend, hears this, pipes in from her room and says, "Wait, can I just brush my teeth first?" New Guy responds, "Cole, don't worry about it, man! Wanna just get in the shower with me? We can take a shower together!" They've met twice. I hear all of this commotion, and decide that I need to be up because although New Guy doesn't need me to hold his hand, but I knew it was the polite and respectful thing to do, although I'm NOT HAPPY about it. Then, I don't know what to do with myself, because I'll get in real trouble if I try to cut in line for the bathroom, so I start making coffee for New Guy. He takes it black.
With Rebecca's summer schedule, she usually nearly out the door by the time Angela woke up. Since school has started, Angela's assumption that Rebecca had already left was false. So now Angela, Cole, New Guy are in line for the bathroom, and Rebecca gets up and announces, "I have to get in there!" Neither Rebecca nor myself are wearing pants. She grumbles something about being awake but not getting out of bed, and something about how this is a fucking circus. She's not wrong, either. Cole and New Guy are brushing their teeth in the hall, New Guy is trying to talk to Cole, Cole is trying to figure out where to spit.
I've failed at making the first batch of coffee in the percolator. If you remember, we have 39 coffeemakers, and one of the percolators doesn't always work- the water boils but just leaks out the seal. I tried to use an oven mitt to tighten it, hoping not to start over on this stupid cup of coffee, and I end up spilling it all over the counter. I have a difficult time figuring out how do I make my coffee if I haven't had my coffee. It's like the chicken and the egg.
So, Rebecca cuts New Guy in line for the bathroom, since he's taking an entire shower, and it's her prerogative since she actually lives here. While he's waiting for both the shower and the coffee, he sits on my front porch and smokes a cigarette. Cigarettes are not a dealbreaker for me, since Mandy Wheeler smokes like a chimney and I'm addicted to her second hand smoke. Cole is sitting in the chair next to the window, and if you're sitting on the porch, you're pretty much at eye level. New Guy taps on the window and motions to put it up so they can continue talking about whatever they were talking about. New Guy is obviously a morning person. My landlord happens to walk by and see New Guy smoking on the porch and says, "Hey listen, not to be an ass hole, but, I really don't want you to be smoking on my property. I'm against smoking 150%." Anytime anyone prefaces a statement with, "not to be an asshole/dick/fucking bitch," it's really just a way to acknowledge the fact that you're aware that whatever is coming next is going to be offensive, and you don't care. I go back to bed and everyone leaves.
Angela says that it's a flashback to her childhood, growing up one of nine children, and that it's one of her worst nightmares. Then later, she tells her boyfriend, and he responds, "REALLY? I thought it was fun!!"
August 27, 2010
The Second to the Worst Date Ever
About a year ago, I met this guy. He was a friend of a friend, reasonably attractive like a blond Paul Rud, and showing me a lot of attention. He wasn't particularly funny or engaging in conversation, but he was a really good listener. I believe I gave him my email address, and we talked a bit via email and via phone for a few days until we made a date. And then I find out he was 13 years older than me, which was surprising, but not a deal breaker.
I like to do this thing when I'm going on a first date and I know there's going to be trouble deciding on a location. - I suggest three places, and the guy chooses from those three. It's a perfect, diplomatic way to compromise without hemming and hawing. Paul Rudd and I choose Rosie's, one of my favorite first-date places. And if this guy isn't paying for my meal, I know I can afford it. (Etiquette question: my friend Sarah, who lived in Memphis for ten years, says that she doesn't care if she gets taken out for McDonald's on a first date- that guy should be paying. But WTF am I supposed to do if I actually can't afford to pay my half because it's like, the day before payday and rent was due or something? It's embarassing to both not be able to afford my half, to make that known, and to rely on my date to foot the bill. I'm not a feminist, but I'm not old fashioned, either.)
I show up at Rosie's ten minutes late, and he's patiently waiting. But has also patiently decided that we need to go somewhere else because it's too loud. (I like burgers. This was my favorite neighborhood bar. Can't hang at my bar, can't hang with me First date mistake number one.) So we head over to Sapporo, my favorite place for sushi in town except for Miyake, which isn't on the same playing field as the rest. Sapporo is good. It's not great, but it's consistent. Good food, good service, good ambiance, not too pricey if you pick the right things. He's never been, and almost immediately starts complaining that the waitress seems too fake. (First date mistake number two.) It's her job to be nice. Who cares if she sounds fake, maybe she was having a bad date. I'd prefer fake nice to outright rude, any day. First dates are about putting your best foot forward, for charming the other person and not acting crazy.
Much to my relief, he picks up the tab and we decide to give Rosie's another shot. On our walk, he tells me he wants to talk about our age difference. I actually say, "Let's not go down that road." I wasn't trying to be rude, I just honestly felt there was nothing to talk about regarding our age difference, so what was the point? Paul Rudd and I were both aware of the situation, what was I going to say, "Hey, how were the 70s?" I changed the subject. (First date mistake number three.)
We arrive at Rosie's, sit down, and it comes out that in a few weeks I was going to be moving to his street, my very first solo apartment. He offers to loan me this couch that he has in storage, saying that he thinks it'd be perfect for my place, he wasn't using it, but that he'd need it back at some point. Whoa. Really? This was date one. Agreeing to take the couch of Paul Rudd was pretty much license for him to stay in my life for however long the couch was in the apartment, and it was nice of him to offer, but highly inappropriate. I politely declined, multiple times- he kept pressing the issue. (First date mistake number four.) The conversation died down pretty quick after this, and sometimes I get distracted by... fashion. So it's like I'm a dude, checking out a bunch of girls, but instead of their asses I'm checking out their boots. Boots not boobs. Really, it's a bad habit, but I can't help myself. Paul Rudd takes this as an indication that I'm having a terrible time, and asks me if I'm having a terrible time. Best way to ensure that I'll start having a terrible time: ask me if I'm having a terrible time. (First date mistake number five.)
He drives me home, we're in the car, which is always the worst, most awkward way to say goodbye to someone on a date. I've got to remember to ask to be walked to the door. I decide that maybe some of the awkwardness over the course of the night was just due to jitters- sometimes getting to know someone's personality quirks takes time. There was only one way for me to figure out if Paul Rudd and I had a second date: I went in for the kiss. If it was an awesome kiss, I'd know. This was a really bold move, and I almost never do it. I get thisclose and he says, "Are you trying to kiss me?" Sheepishly, I say yes. He tells me he'd rather have a hug and talk about our age difference. I'm stunned. He proceeds to not really say anything, and I don't really have anything to say, so even though we're having "a talk" about our age difference, we're not talking.
I get out of the car, stunned, deflated, rejected. It seems like the best decision to take a few days and figure out if we can come back from this major blow. How do I know he won't pull that every single time I try to touch him, or worse, in bed? Consequently, this involves me being a little bit distant and non-responsive for two, three days. I didn't cut him out completely, just didn't make any plans. On the evening of the third day after our date, it was Gossip Girl at Keith and Maggie's. I looked forward to this Monday night with Serena and Blair every week. My phone was off while we enjoyed chips and dip, exchanging OMGs and WTFs. He had written me a really nice email earlier that day about how I was mistaken and if only I could understand how much he really did want to give him a second chance. This email swayed me to give him another chance when...
On my way out, I check my phone. Missed call from Paul Rudd and two really angry texts. "Amanda, how could you do this to me. At least show some respect and tell me that you don't feel the same. We have the same friend circle, it's a small town and this is really shitty." Whoa. I called him immediately and holy shit, was he angry. For the next half hour, we're on the phone as I head back up the Hill, having the worst break-up talk. There were sighs. Long, awkward silent pauses. All this, and we hadn't even kissed. It was awful.
His deal was that he was 37, and desperately wanted to be in a serious relationship. When he started realizing I was not going to be the one, he over compensated and pushed me away. I see him from time to time, and I never know what to say, because it was the second to the worst date I'd ever been on.
I like to do this thing when I'm going on a first date and I know there's going to be trouble deciding on a location. - I suggest three places, and the guy chooses from those three. It's a perfect, diplomatic way to compromise without hemming and hawing. Paul Rudd and I choose Rosie's, one of my favorite first-date places. And if this guy isn't paying for my meal, I know I can afford it. (Etiquette question: my friend Sarah, who lived in Memphis for ten years, says that she doesn't care if she gets taken out for McDonald's on a first date- that guy should be paying. But WTF am I supposed to do if I actually can't afford to pay my half because it's like, the day before payday and rent was due or something? It's embarassing to both not be able to afford my half, to make that known, and to rely on my date to foot the bill. I'm not a feminist, but I'm not old fashioned, either.)
I show up at Rosie's ten minutes late, and he's patiently waiting. But has also patiently decided that we need to go somewhere else because it's too loud. (I like burgers. This was my favorite neighborhood bar. Can't hang at my bar, can't hang with me First date mistake number one.) So we head over to Sapporo, my favorite place for sushi in town except for Miyake, which isn't on the same playing field as the rest. Sapporo is good. It's not great, but it's consistent. Good food, good service, good ambiance, not too pricey if you pick the right things. He's never been, and almost immediately starts complaining that the waitress seems too fake. (First date mistake number two.) It's her job to be nice. Who cares if she sounds fake, maybe she was having a bad date. I'd prefer fake nice to outright rude, any day. First dates are about putting your best foot forward, for charming the other person and not acting crazy.
Much to my relief, he picks up the tab and we decide to give Rosie's another shot. On our walk, he tells me he wants to talk about our age difference. I actually say, "Let's not go down that road." I wasn't trying to be rude, I just honestly felt there was nothing to talk about regarding our age difference, so what was the point? Paul Rudd and I were both aware of the situation, what was I going to say, "Hey, how were the 70s?" I changed the subject. (First date mistake number three.)
We arrive at Rosie's, sit down, and it comes out that in a few weeks I was going to be moving to his street, my very first solo apartment. He offers to loan me this couch that he has in storage, saying that he thinks it'd be perfect for my place, he wasn't using it, but that he'd need it back at some point. Whoa. Really? This was date one. Agreeing to take the couch of Paul Rudd was pretty much license for him to stay in my life for however long the couch was in the apartment, and it was nice of him to offer, but highly inappropriate. I politely declined, multiple times- he kept pressing the issue. (First date mistake number four.) The conversation died down pretty quick after this, and sometimes I get distracted by... fashion. So it's like I'm a dude, checking out a bunch of girls, but instead of their asses I'm checking out their boots. Boots not boobs. Really, it's a bad habit, but I can't help myself. Paul Rudd takes this as an indication that I'm having a terrible time, and asks me if I'm having a terrible time. Best way to ensure that I'll start having a terrible time: ask me if I'm having a terrible time. (First date mistake number five.)
He drives me home, we're in the car, which is always the worst, most awkward way to say goodbye to someone on a date. I've got to remember to ask to be walked to the door. I decide that maybe some of the awkwardness over the course of the night was just due to jitters- sometimes getting to know someone's personality quirks takes time. There was only one way for me to figure out if Paul Rudd and I had a second date: I went in for the kiss. If it was an awesome kiss, I'd know. This was a really bold move, and I almost never do it. I get thisclose and he says, "Are you trying to kiss me?" Sheepishly, I say yes. He tells me he'd rather have a hug and talk about our age difference. I'm stunned. He proceeds to not really say anything, and I don't really have anything to say, so even though we're having "a talk" about our age difference, we're not talking.
I get out of the car, stunned, deflated, rejected. It seems like the best decision to take a few days and figure out if we can come back from this major blow. How do I know he won't pull that every single time I try to touch him, or worse, in bed? Consequently, this involves me being a little bit distant and non-responsive for two, three days. I didn't cut him out completely, just didn't make any plans. On the evening of the third day after our date, it was Gossip Girl at Keith and Maggie's. I looked forward to this Monday night with Serena and Blair every week. My phone was off while we enjoyed chips and dip, exchanging OMGs and WTFs. He had written me a really nice email earlier that day about how I was mistaken and if only I could understand how much he really did want to give him a second chance. This email swayed me to give him another chance when...
On my way out, I check my phone. Missed call from Paul Rudd and two really angry texts. "Amanda, how could you do this to me. At least show some respect and tell me that you don't feel the same. We have the same friend circle, it's a small town and this is really shitty." Whoa. I called him immediately and holy shit, was he angry. For the next half hour, we're on the phone as I head back up the Hill, having the worst break-up talk. There were sighs. Long, awkward silent pauses. All this, and we hadn't even kissed. It was awful.
His deal was that he was 37, and desperately wanted to be in a serious relationship. When he started realizing I was not going to be the one, he over compensated and pushed me away. I see him from time to time, and I never know what to say, because it was the second to the worst date I'd ever been on.
August 25, 2010
The Moose River Mix
Once upon a time, I "ran" a "website" called the Mixtape Collective. Through a series of unfortuante events, I closed my P.O. Box and ended the service. It was really fun while it lasted, and sometimes I fantasize about getting it up and running again. There were all of these great mixes that I'd made to give away, like the Cruise Mix, the Back to School Mix, etc. It's been so long since I've made a mix for someone, a tape or whatever, but one of my favorite things to do is make an accompanying tape narrating over the songs and why I decided to include them.
Here is the written version of that for the Moose River Mix:
Take Me to the River: Seems kind of an obvious first choice, the live version off of Stop Making Sense. It's an Al Green cover and a big hit for the Talking Heads, and although the river is obviously a metaphor for like, love or whatever, it's kind of perfect since we were, you know, going to the river. I've been totally obsessed with this album for
I'll Be on the Water: Akron/Family's I'll Be on the Water is such a sad, lovely song. "Thinking of you/there's lightning bolts in my chest. I know you know/I think our love's the best." The Moose River trip is entirely on the water, aside from the portages, and when we say, I'll be on the water, really,we left and said, see you in four days, there's no cell service up there, we're totally cut off. In the wilderness. On the water.
Sitting By the Riverside: I almost always find a way to include the Kinks in my mixes. This song came up when I searched for "river" in my iTunes. So did all my Weezer albums and "Ghost of the River" by the Anniversary (blast from the past!) We often beached the canoes and had lunch sitting by the riverside, sometimes we've taken shelter from a flash thunder storm. Nick did some fishing, I did some sunbathing. This mix is really literal, a narration of sorts, in case you haven't caught that. Two years ago we passed the time in the boats by brainstorming Karen's epic 8 disc (plus two bonus) 90s Mix, which could've been marketed in an infomercial by Time Life during late night reruns of Friends and 90210.
Northern Sky: Anyone who's seen the clear night sky, unpolluted from city lights, knows how beautiful and magical it is. It's something that I took for granted growing up. The first night it was pretty warm and clear and we took all three canoes out and did a little mega-canoeing, where we held all three together and jumped off and swam and stuff. Under the Milky Way was also in the running for this idea of sleeping under the stars, but I thought because we were so close to Canada (ahem, north,) and this song matched the tone of the mix and the trip a little bit better. We brought an iPod this year, and listened to a bunch of Magnetic Fields songs.
Wind of Change: It was so fucking windy. Darcy almost had a meltdown. We were paddling as hard as we could against a really strong headwind and were barely moving. Every year the weather significantly changes the trip... this year it was just so incredibly windy right away. Plus this song fucking rules.
Proud Mary- CCR can EAD, this is all about Ike and Tina. One of my favorite memories from last summer was Erin talking about the really mean geese on the farm she was working on, named Ike and Tina. You know what you're supposed to do if a goose is chasing you? Grab it around the neck with both hands and throw it. I'm terrified of large birds, so I'd probably be pecked to death. "Left a good job in the city, working for the man every night and day. Never lost one minute of sleep worrying about the way things might have been." Don't we all just want to leave our jobs to do whatever the hell we want? Someday I'll be the person that saves up, quits and lives in New Zealand for a year, or takes that cross-country road trip- throws caution to the wind. The Moose River trip is like a little taste of that, and I know we all fantasize about making that sort of thing a bigger part of our lives while we're out there. Proud Mary is also an awesome karaoke song, and someday I'll get to see Kate Digby Skinner and her bff Lauren preform it in person.
Big River- This came up in the brainstorming sesh while we were on the river itself. I love Johnny Cash. Enough said.
Harvest Moon- I usually try and use some of the time while we're gone to reflect on the things I'm happy with in my life, how thankful for everything and everyone in my life, and it fills up my chest with happiness. Kind of like this song. "There's a full moon rising, let's go dancing in the light."
Red Squirrel Sun Rises- There was literally this little red squirrel at the campsite who was PISSED at me for shoeing it away from our food. That sucker got really, really close to me. Then a chipmunk came, and they chased each other around the campsite up trees and through the fire pit (no fire was actually going.) I was alone when this happened, and I had a really difficult time conveying the ridiculousness of the scene, the squirrel chirping at me from the tree. It was like a cartoon.
Walking On Sunshine- Remember that scene in High Fidelity that Barry takes off the new Belle and Sebastian ("sad bastard music") and put this song on, then did that obnoxious dance around the store? This song is like, pure happiness. We had some really beautiful weather once the wind died down.
With Arms Outstretched- I've loved this song forever, and I can't believe how well it describes the trip in so many ways. "It's 16 miles to the promise land/and I promise you, I'm doing the best I can" Halfway through the trip is actually about 16 miles and we are like, so tired but we're still trying. "I visit these mountains with frequency, and I stand here with my arms up. Now some days, they last longer than others, but this day by the lake went too fast." Third year in a row, check. Mountains, check. Lakes, check. Feeling like the trip was going too fast, check. Big singalong at the end, check.
End of the Line- Wrapping up the tail end of the mix, End of the Line by the Travelling Wilburys. I've always, for as long as I can remember, hated Tom Petty. But in recent years, I've relaxed, and realized that actually, he's a really great song writer. "Even if the sun don't shine/Well it's alright/we're going to the end of the line." It's such a relief to see that final stretch of lake and know that in a matter of hours I'll be in a shower and a bed with a pillow. This song also kind of embodies the way I've been living my life, "Well, it's alright." Some friends recently described me as organized, which is sort of ridiculous. Here's a good example of how not organized I am: I left my backpack at the lodge at the Northern Outdoors in The Forks three and a half hours away, and didn't realize it until we were already two hours away. Yeah, I made a mistake. Especially because I was borrowing Angela's backpack, sleeping pad and Heather's sleeping bag and I would have to spend hundreds of dollars to replace those things, but it was already done, and I could've flipped out about it, but it's so much easier to not flip out and try to problem solve. I knew I could create a shipment on UPS.com, and I knew some friends would be up in The Forks in a week or two, and worst case- I could've made someone drive me up. In the end, the Northern Outdoors ended up sending me the pack and I didn't even have to pay. It was alright.
Right Back to Where We Started From- My love for this song was born from two things: My Best Friend's Wedding and listening to the Oldies station every single day in the office from 9-5. The Moose River trip is a big circle, a bow, if you will. Get it? We're right back where we started from. The relationship she's talking about in this song sounds pretty screwed up, though, and I'm glad I get to use the song as it relates to the trip and not "If you get hurt by the little things I say, I can put that smile back on your face." What a bitch!
The Final Countdown- The Arrested Development references first started on the trip when John Holt decided to come along, and even though Nick was the only one that he knew at that point, we automatically rebranded him Steve Holt! Then in Mama Bear's diner in Jackman on the first morning this epically ridiculous song GOB used as the theme song for his "illusions," and it's actually incredibly catchy. Unfortunately, we don't really know any of the lyrics other than "It's the FINAL COUNTDOWN.". We added a day of whitewater rafting, since we were all so psyched about not being in Portland for another day, and our raft guide, cute as a button, thought we were singing Eye of the Tiger because we just repeated the synth parts over and over. So catchy. I just happened to look up the lyrics, and it turns out the song is about leaving the Earth and travelling to Venus in a space ship.
Notice the one river song I left out here: River of Dreams by Billy Joel. I hate that song. It was stuck in my head for the entire fourth grade.
Let me know if you want a copy. amandajennifer@gmail.com
August 18, 2010
Best Summer Ever
I have two weeks before school starts, roughly, and I just wanted to reflect a little bit on the best summer I've been having (therefore preventing me from being motivated to write in this thing.) I've basicly been on a bender since June. I should be outside right now.
Things I've crossed off my to-do list:
Moose River
whitewater rafting
lobster rolls and steamers at J's
patio dining at Sapporo
ride on the back of a motorcycle (bonus: it was from 1970.)
hang out on a sailboat
leisurely afternoons on the Eastern Prom, reading, listening to podcasts
host awesome 4th of July party
eat a lot of hamburgers, hotdogs and s'mores
lobster bake
Peaks Island
Sea Dogs game
drive-in movies
under the Milky Way on Bailey Island
Things that weren't on my to-do list but were still awesome:
Mackworth Island
flying kites at Fort Williams
getting a tan
late nights on the back porch (having a back porch)
the Laura Palmer (pink lemonade/bourbon)
the cover of the Portland Daily Sun and subsequent follow-up story
Missed Connection
booze cruise with Foam Castles
Things I need to cross off in the next two weeks before school starts:
buy books
boogie boarding
skinny dipping
Old Orchard Beach
Funtown
beat my high score at bowling and skee ball.
Kennebunkport Pub Crawl
make a fall to-do list
Things I've crossed off my to-do list:
Moose River
whitewater rafting
lobster rolls and steamers at J's
patio dining at Sapporo
ride on the back of a motorcycle (bonus: it was from 1970.)
hang out on a sailboat
leisurely afternoons on the Eastern Prom, reading, listening to podcasts
host awesome 4th of July party
eat a lot of hamburgers, hotdogs and s'mores
lobster bake
Peaks Island
Sea Dogs game
drive-in movies
under the Milky Way on Bailey Island
Things that weren't on my to-do list but were still awesome:
Mackworth Island
flying kites at Fort Williams
getting a tan
late nights on the back porch (having a back porch)
the Laura Palmer (pink lemonade/bourbon)
the cover of the Portland Daily Sun and subsequent follow-up story
Missed Connection
booze cruise with Foam Castles
Things I need to cross off in the next two weeks before school starts:
buy books
boogie boarding
skinny dipping
Old Orchard Beach
Funtown
beat my high score at bowling and skee ball.
Kennebunkport Pub Crawl
make a fall to-do list
August 9, 2010
The Texas Roadhouse and the Rosetta Stone
My sister is awesome and I love her quite dearly, but we are two completely opposite people. I mean, completely. She looks like our mother, I look like our father. She makes poor emotional decisions, I make poor financial decisions. She's good at math and I'm... not. She dates guys who are alternately in and out of jail and/or the military, I date guys who are in and out of bands and/or New York City. She has two kids and well, I'm minorly terrified of most children, except, I guess the children of my close friends and family. One panic-inducing occasion at my old office had a six month old baby mistaking me for her mother. I think I actually ran away from the crying child and hid in the bathroom until they left.
Three years ago, Ashley, my sister was dating this guy who she'd known for a long time. He was graduating boot camp, and she'd just had her first baby, my nephew Andrew. Unbeknown to me, she went down to Georgia for his graduation, and he proposed marriage. I wasn't even positive that they were back together when she called me to tell me the news. He was stationed in Germany, they were going to get married at City Hall, pack up the kid and go with him. A number of things happened between the proposal and the deployment and they broke up, but these are some highlights from the conversation we had:
Me: Oh my god, are you kidding? Really, how'd he do it, do you have a ring? Oh my god, Ashley. This is insane.
Ashley: (clearly smiling on the other line) No, no ring yet... We just kind of... decided.
Me: Well, where were you when he did it?
Ashley: Oh my god, Amanda, we were at this really nice restaurant- (picturing white tablecloth, candlelight, Alex in his fatigues, the baby sleeping next to them with soft jazz music playing in the background, no booze because they were both under 21) -it's called the Texas Roadhouse.
Me: (silence. Don't get me wrong, I really love the Texas Roadhouse. Really. Their baked sweet potatoes are amazing, and they give you hot, fresh rolls. They serve Blue Moon and you have to ride a saddle if it's your birthday. I've always had a great time there, except for that one time I found my server crying in the bathroom.)
Me: Ashley. Oh my god. The Texas Roadhouse is NOT a nice restaurant. It's a chain, like Applebee's or the Olive Garden.
Ashley: Oh. Well, anyway, our food was really good.
(a few minutes later, as I'm processing the idea, thinking about Ashley and the baby living on the base, being an army wife, making a life for themselves...)
Me: So, if he's stationed in Germany, and you guys are living on the base, I wonder if that means you're under American jurisdiction or German jurisdiction. Because if it's German, you can drink. But, there probably aren't any bars on the base so...
Ashley: There are probably like, neighboring towns we can go hang out in if he has leave or whatever.
Me: But you don't speak German.
Ashley. But there are neighboring towns.
Me: Ashley. You don't speak German.
Ashley: What do you mean?
(silence)
Me: Ashley.... German is a language spoken in Germany. Like French or Spanish.
Ashley, brow furrowed, ignoring my laughter: Oh. I thought they just spoke English, but with an accent... (pause) I might have to get that Rosetta Stone thing.
--
One of the funniest parts of this story, I think, is that she knew what the Rosetta Stone program was, but probably has no idea what the significance of the name is. (Please don't let this story reflect my thoughts on the Lewiston Public School system, or judge my sister for not knowing German was a language.) She has her GED and is taking classes at the Central Maine Community College, where she'll probably end up being a really awesome, funny, caring nurse.
Three years ago, Ashley, my sister was dating this guy who she'd known for a long time. He was graduating boot camp, and she'd just had her first baby, my nephew Andrew. Unbeknown to me, she went down to Georgia for his graduation, and he proposed marriage. I wasn't even positive that they were back together when she called me to tell me the news. He was stationed in Germany, they were going to get married at City Hall, pack up the kid and go with him. A number of things happened between the proposal and the deployment and they broke up, but these are some highlights from the conversation we had:
Me: Oh my god, are you kidding? Really, how'd he do it, do you have a ring? Oh my god, Ashley. This is insane.
Ashley: (clearly smiling on the other line) No, no ring yet... We just kind of... decided.
Me: Well, where were you when he did it?
Ashley: Oh my god, Amanda, we were at this really nice restaurant- (picturing white tablecloth, candlelight, Alex in his fatigues, the baby sleeping next to them with soft jazz music playing in the background, no booze because they were both under 21) -it's called the Texas Roadhouse.
Me: (silence. Don't get me wrong, I really love the Texas Roadhouse. Really. Their baked sweet potatoes are amazing, and they give you hot, fresh rolls. They serve Blue Moon and you have to ride a saddle if it's your birthday. I've always had a great time there, except for that one time I found my server crying in the bathroom.)
Me: Ashley. Oh my god. The Texas Roadhouse is NOT a nice restaurant. It's a chain, like Applebee's or the Olive Garden.
Ashley: Oh. Well, anyway, our food was really good.
(a few minutes later, as I'm processing the idea, thinking about Ashley and the baby living on the base, being an army wife, making a life for themselves...)
Me: So, if he's stationed in Germany, and you guys are living on the base, I wonder if that means you're under American jurisdiction or German jurisdiction. Because if it's German, you can drink. But, there probably aren't any bars on the base so...
Ashley: There are probably like, neighboring towns we can go hang out in if he has leave or whatever.
Me: But you don't speak German.
Ashley. But there are neighboring towns.
Me: Ashley. You don't speak German.
Ashley: What do you mean?
(silence)
Me: Ashley.... German is a language spoken in Germany. Like French or Spanish.
Ashley, brow furrowed, ignoring my laughter: Oh. I thought they just spoke English, but with an accent... (pause) I might have to get that Rosetta Stone thing.
--
One of the funniest parts of this story, I think, is that she knew what the Rosetta Stone program was, but probably has no idea what the significance of the name is. (Please don't let this story reflect my thoughts on the Lewiston Public School system, or judge my sister for not knowing German was a language.) She has her GED and is taking classes at the Central Maine Community College, where she'll probably end up being a really awesome, funny, caring nurse.
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