First Love

In 6th grade I was in love with Eddie Van Halen and convinced that as soon as I was old enough, I would meet him and marry him. My room was decorated with Van Halen albums, I had a Van Halen jersey, and I even had a leather wrist band that was really stylish with my purple feather earrings. Moccasin boots would have completed the look but my mom never let me sink (rise?) to such burnout lows (highs?)

Yeah, yeah there was that whole Valerie Bertinelli thing but, instead of deterring me, she just made me glad I was a brunette and convinced I had a shot. Today, Valerie is looking fine in a swimsuit; Eddie only has half a tongue (or so the urban legend says); and I'm sprouting grey in my brunette hair and sizing up the jumpsuits of Van Halen.

Eddie, you will always be my favorite but your jumpsuits (like Pete's) are too much like coveralls. Thanks for the guitar playing and for being my first rock star obsession, but you are not the Jumpsuit King.

I'm also going to be blunt and just say up front that neither Michael Anthony nor Alex Van Halen have enough charisma to win this contest. It doesn't matter how good their jumpsuits might be. I won't even bother Google Image searching their names.

That leaves us with David Lee Roth: known as much for his high fashion as for his golden mane. This is a jumpsuit! And the move to go with it. As great as this jumpsuit is though, I have to hesitate. I feel like DLR is better known for his assless chaps and big mat of chest hair.

When calling up a mental image of the winner, he or she should be wearing a jumpsuit. In my minds-eye, David Lee Roth is always half naked with a bunch of ribbons and bandannas tied around his calves. This is a dangerous rule to make: plenty of other contenders are going to have other prominent looks too. And David Lee Roth represents the athletic, bodysuit kind of jumpsuit rarely achieved by other rock stars. He always looks ready to out tumble a team of Chinese gymnasts and do it with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. That settles it: David Lee Roth, you are moving on to the next round!

Cherry Bomb

Could a woman win best jumpsuit in Rock 'n Roll? If it's possible, my money is on one of The Runaways.

The trouble with a women in a jumpsuit is that it's not as unexpected as a man in a jumpsuit. Women don't have to go quite as far out, fashion-wise, to wear one. And what is a jumpsuit vs. a pantsuit vs. a bodysuit vs. a body stocking? The lines are blurrier and it would be far less shocking to see a Regular Jane walking around in a jumpsuit than a Regular Joe.

The girls in The Runaways have enough attitude though to make it clear that they're not just wearing your Momma's ugly fashion blunder from times gone by. They go all out and give us:
Stretchy, silver, sleeveless spacesuits;
Badass, black, biker chic;
Adorable cap sleeves with opera gloves;
and Joan Jett's iconic, red-leather number with racer stripes.

Add in the platform shoes and feathered hair and I'm convinced a lady could take the crown.

And since Joan Jett is my favorite (despite of that whole Love Hurts disaster), I am selecting her as the group representative. Unfortunately, in a move that smacks of sexist b.s., I am going to subject her to a 2nd round interview during which her solo career jumpsuit achievements will be evaluated. Congratulations Joan Jett, you are still in the running to become My Next Top Jumpsuit.

Nitzer Ebb vs. Wiggles

(Nitzer Ebb - Join In The Chant (Live At Technoclub Belive Tour 1989) video put up by jrollet)

Last night Nitzer Ebb played at the Double Door, a short walk up the road for me. When I saw the ad for it I had a flashback to dancing under the strobe lights with a gimlet in my hand at Todd's Sway Lounge. Todd's was located on Seven Mile in Detroit, right by my Grandma's old house and in a "bad" neighborhood. In 1986 and 1987, I had a fake ID (Thank you Amy Elizabeth Burrows!) and convinced my mom that I had a friend named Todd who lived in the suburbs. Trying to come up with lies to go out on Thursday nights was a challenge and having to be home by 11pm or so was a major barrier in trying to run with the cool kids. Every now and again there would be the glorious Thursday where someone had parents out of town or the stars had aligned and we could stay out really late.

Todd's Sway Lounge was incredibly grungy: the bathroom floors were always flooded and often puked on. You were also never quite sure who or how many people you were going to find in a stall. The basement bar seemed to have disgusting European porn on a constant loop. But you could rely on Todd's to serve you strong drinks even if you were only 16 and didn't look much like the girl in the photo, to be playing music that wasn't played on the radio, and to be a safe haven for guys who wanted to wear eyeliner. In the grand spirit of coincidence, I've come across a flyer for a Reunion Party that was also last night. Especially useful, since my youthful brain was pickled with gimlets and my memories are hazy, is the convenient historical overview.



"Travel back in time to the decade of decadence- the‘80s-this holiday season to revisit a Detroit dance club that was the epitome of ‘80s glory. Todd’s, formally known as Todd’s Sway Lounge, was a gay nightclub on Detroit’s far eastside that was on the cutting edge of the new wave of eighties music and lifestyle.

Detroit club impresario- Stirling, first approached the owners of the venue in 1983 and convinced them to try out a dance music night on Monday evenings to cater to a growing subculture of club kids. The owners welcomed this idea, and a new dance party was launched. Stirling hired the eclectic DJ Charles English to spin the latest in dance music, Euro-pop, new wave and even some punk classics and funk gems thrown into the explosive mix of music that had the patrons up and dancing the night away. When Monday nights became thee popular weekly destination, they expanded to Thursday nights as well. The nightclub was one-of-a-kind as it featured more than just a dance floor. A basement theater was dubbed “the video coffin” that showed cult films and videos courtesy of host Kory Clarke (later of the band Warrior Soul), upstairs featured Benson’s couture clothing boutique called “Transvestia Dementia” (and later turned into a record store run by Michael Fiscus) and the vintage clothing/record store/ art gallery called “Chaos,” run by promoter Sue Static. The Todd’s dance parties became a main component of ‘80s subculture here in the city. The party lasted for almost a decade, up until the club changed ownership in the early ‘90s."

Alas, I did not relive the 80s with the crowd from Todd's Sway Bar or with Nitzer Ebb. I had family visiting from out of town and right about the time Nitzer Ebb roadies were probably unloading their arsenal of synthesizers, my 5 (and 3/4s) year old niece and I were watching The Wiggles Go Bananas with special guest Kylie Minogue. Having seen a bit of both, I can honestly say that The Wiggles are way weirder than anything cooked up by the subculture of Detroit club kids.

Tommy Got His Gun

Jumpsuit contender No. 1 - Pete Townshend. I feel like I need to include him if only to establish some ground rules for jumpsuits. I consider this outfit more "coveralls" than jumpsuit. This is a painter's getup. Working man practicality. The best rock 'n roll jumpsuit is not practical it flamboyant and form fitting. Sorry Pete!

But while we're with you, I think I should mention Live at Leeds. I get chills every single time during Eyesight to the Blind and when I hear that one warble during It's a boy, Mrs. Walker, it's a boy. I love this album and listened to it this morning to get into the right frame of mind. Unfortunately, in the great iPod migration of 2009, I seem to have lost all of disc one of the Deluxe edition. I'll have to reload.

My favorite memory of The Who involves my sister and a childhood watching way too many 4 o'clock movies. My dad was off work with a broken back for a few years and when I got home from school we watched Bill Kennedy at the Movies and Rita Bell's 4 O'Clock Movie. Godzilla week, Trilogy of Terror, Planet of the Apes week, Soylent Green and all sorts of D-list films. My dad drank Busch beer and I drank chocolate milk and wished I Dream of Jeannie was on instead. At some point, I must have seen the movie adaptation of Johnny Got his Gun by Dalton Trumbo. I don't know where else this image would have been planted in my head.

Years later (I'm guessing I was maybe 12? 13?) I asked my sister: "Hey Deb ... how could Tommy play pinball with no arms and no legs?" Even as I said it, it was clear to me those unconnected links in my head were really, really wrong.

Weird childhood notions lead to several minutes of great fun and devising our own Rock Opera though. The only part I remember now is jumping around on one leg while flapping our arms like chickens and singing "Talking 'bout my Amputation."

People try to push us d-down!
Just because we hop around.

No Politically Correct Crown for me and no Jumpsuit Crown for Pete Townshend. I will hand the Pinball Crown to The Who for a great Live album though.

Thanks, Freddie

Eighteen years ago today Freddie Mercury died. I don't know why that is one of the dates I always remember. November 24? Freddie Mercury died. One of my oddest memories of a November 24 was emailing with a guy in 2003, setting up a home-made lasagne dinner date for the following week. I remember thinking as we chatted back and forth "hey, Freddie Mercury died today" but deciding not to mention it. I didn't know the guy very well and the night we met we talked about Bell Bottom Blues and the album Zuma.

Busting out the Freddie Mercury before a first date seemed risky .... I don't think these days I'd hold back. Love me, love lasagne, love Queen.

My friend J. says I should not even bother with a Battle of the Jumpsuits because Freddie automatically wins. I'm not saying he won't win but I think his competitors deserve a shot. In honor of Freddie's passing then, I will pull together my Jumpsuit Warriors this evening.

A Hint?!

My boss just sent me the following email attachment. I don't think it is a hint but more in response to my taking a day off this summer to go see Phish and coming in 2 hours late this morning because I was "liberating" my iPod:

Grateful Dead Archivist
University of California Santa Cruz, Santa Cruz, California
Salary: $50,000 - $79,999
Status: Full-time
Posted: 11/10/09
Deadline: 03/01/10
Grateful Dead Archivist
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, SANTA CRUZ Grateful Dead Archivist Status: Full-time Posted: 11/09/09 Deadline: Initial Review Date, 12/04/09 The University Library of the University of California, Santa Cruz, seeks an enterprising, creative, and service-oriented archivist to join the staff of Special Collections & Archives (SC&A) as Archivist for the Grateful Dead Archive. This is an academic librarian professional position. The Archivist will be part of a dynamic, collegial, and highly motivated department dedicated to building, preserving, promoting, and providing maximum access both physically and virtually to one of the Library’s most exciting and unique collections, The Grateful Dead Archive (GDA). The UCSC University Library utilizes innovative approaches to allow the discovery, use, management, and sharing of information in support of research, teaching, and learning. Appointment Range: Associate Librarian III – Librarian I, with an approximate salary range of $52,860 – $68,892, commensurate with qualifications and experience. For the full posting: http://library.ucsc.edu/about/job-opportunities. The University of California, Santa Cruz is an Affirmative Action/Equal Employment Opportunity Employer.

I think it was in a documentary about Old and In the Way (?) or maybe a New Yorker article, but I remember hearing/reading about how stressful it was for Jerry Garcia that there was this whole big group of people who depended on him for livelihoods. The pressure of the business surrounding the band and all the jobs it generated. Or maybe I'm making that up? Whatever ... here's one more Grateful Dead employment opportunity for the non-musician.

Hunky Dory

(youtube clip by 1HiFi45 who collects records and record players and lets us watch them play)

The Echo

About six months ago I started up a Short Story Group -- like a Book Club but with short stories. And cocktails. I've had a love-hate relationship with the group. I love the stories, have gotten to know some interesting women and I love the staff and back room at the bar we gather at. I hate the flakiness of Internet people who keep signing up for events and never attend and can't seem to ever get their hands on a real, live paper book and want you to scan everything and post it online for them.

One of the best parts of the group though is reading authors suggested by other women in the group that I likely would not have picked on my own. I was sure I would not be interested in Murakami but really loved some of his stories. This month, when we decided on Paul Bowles, I was disappointed. It didn't sound like my kind of thing. I have not read The Sheltering Sky and I'm kind of a "western" snob stick in the mud. I didn't want to read about Morocco. I like little stories with simple but powerful interactions between characters. I don't like reading long descriptions of banana leaves and balmy nights. For the first time, I ordered the book through ILL instead of getting a used copy on Amazon. I was sure I wouldn't want to have it in my collection.

I've been so excited to like these stories! I just finished The Echo, written in 1946, about a young woman who goes to visit her mother and her mother's female companion in Colombia. The way he built a growing dislike for one of the characters before she even says a word is great. And I like his ability to write interesting female characters (I also love that about William Trevor). So many of the male writers we've read (Murakami, Richard Russo, Cheever) have a lot of flat and interchangeable women characters. To be fair, some of the women authors we've read are very female-centric and have undeveloped men. I've been hyper-sensitive to this as I read because my own writing is in a big rut with female main characters who come from the same time, place and world that I do. I find that boring and predictable but difficult to change.

I decided to do some poking around about Bowles, first in the introduction to the book and then online. He not only knew one of my all-time favorite artists (Kurt Schwitters) but he also was a composer and wrote music criticism. There is a collection of his articles available called Paul Bowles on Music ( University of California Press, 2003). I'd be interested to read some of the articles about Folk music but would be a lost in the Jazz and Classical criticism. I think I will look at a collection of his letters and watch one of the documentaries about his life and work though.

The "In" Crowd

Top song of my morning commute: Ramsey Lewis' instrumental version of The "In" Crowd.

I have the song from a compilations called Essential Jazz: Cool and Blue and wish I had more Ramsey Lewis. I will remedy this gap once I'm up and running again. It looks like I just missed out on the chance to hear his morning radio show, his station switched to Spanish language format and his last show was May 22, 2009.

Lewis was born in Chicago in 1935 and the song was a hit for Ramsey Lewis Trio in 1965 (#5 on the pop charts and a #2 album.) Written by Billy Page and arranged by his brother Gene, the song had already been a hit (#13 on the charts) that year for Dobie Gray. This Sesame Street adaptation is fun too.

Scandal!

While doing very sophisticated research worthy of a Pulitzer for a Battle of the Jumpsuit post, I have uncovered something shocking.

Unless I can confirm that the denim outfit worn on the cover of Hot August Night is indeed a jumpsuit and not a combination of stylish separates, Getty Images may own every single freaking photograph out there of Neil Diamond in a jumpsuit.

How can this happen? Isn't Neil Diamond in a satin, sequin jumpsuit part of our cultural commons? I can find Neil in plenty of flamboyant shirts and rump hugging polyester slacks, but Getty's got the lock down on that red jumpsuit.

O Holy Night

My good friend H. (who has ditched the Midwest and is now living in San Diego) will be able to visit me on Christmas Day. This is amazing considering what I did to her last Christmas at the 2008 annual cookie bake. In my attempt to find the best ever version of O Holy Night, I downloaded numerous recordings. I knew that Johnny Mathis would be the measuring stick against which all other O Holy Night's would be measured. Johnny Mathis' O Holy Night is the O Holy Night of my childhood.

I started off with one requirement: It had to be in English. I want to sing along. really loud. As I started to look around, I saw some versions that were so weird I had to hear them even though I knew they would be horrible. My current O Holy Night collection consists of:

Aaron Neville
Al Green
Andy Williams
Bing Crosby
Carpenters
Christina Aguilera
David Phelps (who is this guy?)
Ella Fitzgerald
Gospel Choir of Louisiana
Harold Melvin
Irish Tenors
Johnny Mathis
Kenny Rogers
Lou Rawls
Luther Barnes
Mahalia Jackson
Mario Lanza
Nat King Cole
Neil Diamond
*NSYNC*
Perry Como
The Temptations

After listening to all that, I came up with some additional rules for O Holy Night:

1. "Fall on your knees" has to be sung as a stern command. If you warble during "fall on your knees" you are not a contender.
2. No children's choirs.
3. No backup singers during what should be solo parts.
4. A woman will probably never win this contest.
5. Slow down! O Holy Night should not be rushed.

H. and I tried to rank the top versions last year but we were too drunk from all the Christmas Ale to have sensible notes or conclusions. I know that she had an irrational attachment to Kenny Rogers and I was never willing to budge too far on Johnny Mathis. I think we had a Nat King Cole consensus.

I just had an email exchange with H. about her holiday travel plans. Now that her plane ticket has been purchased, I let her know I planned on adding to the O Holy Night collection.

I'm going off the rails on a Crazy Train

So this morning I crossed some official line into spinster crazy. I did not adopt a dozen cats although a kitten does sound nice right now. Instead, I woke up thinking, "where is that spare key?"

I have a set of spare keys for emergency and if someone comes to town. Most of them go unused but the key to the back door gets a bit more circulation. When my friend from San Diego visited last, I gave it to her so she could get around. I sometimes keep it on a book shelve near the back door so that I could grab it easily and get out in case of fire.(I hate doors that require a key to open it, I can't believe that isn't some fire code violation. The last thing I want to be doing when smoke fills my apartment is fumbling for a key so I can get out ...) Anyway, this key has moved around a bit more than the others from the spare set and I realized I did not know its location at that exact moment.

Of course I spent my morning turning the house upside down looking for it but didn't. While it is far more likely it slipped behind a book or to the back of a drawer, I'm now convinced the burglar took it and plans to use it in the future to come back and let himself in. It wasn't used to get out last week (he came in through a window and went out through the other door) but that could be part of the plan, right? So what can a person who has to go to work do until a locksmith comes? Barricade the door of course. Yes, I pushed my couch across the room to make it less convenient to open that door. I'm about a week away from designing traps like the Collyer brothers and buying a shot gun.

Set list for the walk to work:

Crazy (Gnarls Barkley)
Crazy (Patsy Cline)
Crazy (Willie Nelson)
Crazy (Sarah Jarosz)
Crazy Dreams (Patsy Cline)
Crazy Face (Van Morrison)
Crazy Fingers (Grateful Dead)
Crazy Little Thing Called Love (Queen)
Crazy Mama (Richard Manuel)
Crazy Train (Ozzy)
Baby Drives me Crazy (Thin Lizzy)
I'll go Crazy (James Brown)
Mama We're All Crazy Now (Quiet Riot)
Shine on You Crazy Diamond (Pink Floyd)
Still Crazy After All these Years (S&G)
You're Crazy (Guns and Roses)

and a little interview blurb by Townes Van Zandt called Wild Crazy Things from Be Here to Love Me.

UPDATE: My friend H. still has the spare key. My barricading efforts were in vain. I still think I'm at least three steps closer to complete loopiness.

Good-bye Pentax ... Hellllo Holga

I've been too gripey this week to acknowledge a wonderful gift that came in the mail on Monday; I had the package in my hot little hands as I was walking to the door and noticed the gaping hole where my window belonged. Now that I'm recovering from my unchecked hostility, I am looking on the bright side. A burglar takes away my Pentax and Powershot, the fates send me a wonderful little book about Holga cameras.

A friend and former colleague sent me a belated birthday gift on Monday. Considering his birthday is in November, as I recall, everything is flipped around here and I should have been sending him something instead. In addition to a book about birds, he sent a copy of Plastic Cameras: Toying With Creativity by Michelle Bates (New York: Focal Press, 2006. ISBN 9780240808406) My friend is a photographer and some of his work is featured in the book.



I feel like all this stuff with cameras is a kick in the pants to get back to projects I put on hold years ago. I'm proud of how much writing I've done lately, after many years of writers' block. I'd like to feel that way next year about my photography projects. Unfortunately, I lost a bunch of the digital images I had from a couple summers ago that were part of my "Econoline .........van" series. They were not really all Econoline vans but there were wonderful full sized vans from the 70s and 80s. Many of them with flat-paint jobs. I'm not crazy for an air-brush scene, but I do like racer stripes.

Oolong and Zuma

(photo from website: http://www.kevchino.com)

Today is Neil Young's birthday. I wonder if he's a buttercream guy or a chocolate cake with chocolate frosting one. Two years ago I was able to celebrate by going to see him at the Chicago Theater. Ambulance Blues and Winterlong were standouts from that show for me. No show with NY this year though, so I started off the day listening to Zuma while eating breakfast. On the walk and bus trip to work I followed up with every version of Cortez the Killer I have. Including the Matthew Sweet cover.

I'm even thinking that, since I'm so far in debt already with buying all new crap for my apartment, what's another few hundred dollars on the old credit card? Maybe I should get that box set archive ....

R.I.P Pentax K-1000

(photo from the website www.foundphotography.com)

I'm slowly getting over my burglar hostility and might be able to sleep tonight without an OTC sleeping pill and podcasts playing in my ears to drown out all the bumps in the night.

I'm not getting over the loss of my Pentax K-1000 though. Although my laptop is the biggest inconvenience (I lost all my digital photos and several pieces of writing in addition to personal information), my Pentax is the most painful. It doesn't matter that I haven't used it often in the past few years. That was the camera I used in my first photography class, that was the camera that went with me to Scotland, Ireland, Australia and Japan even when I knew it was impractical to take the extra weight when I was bringing my little Powershot already.

Perhaps a photo memory montage set to Terry Jacks would help me heal? If I had a laptop and some digital images I just might inflict the world's fruitiest camera memorial on all three of my readers.

So long Pentax K-1000, I hope you end up in a nice clean pawn shop and that you are matched up with a lovely macro lens that I always wanted to buy you but could never quite afford.

That Girl

It's hard to believe today.
Today when I'm feel crappy and overwhelmed.
Today when I'm sorting through Dell and Lenovo and HP and Mac websites.
Today when I'm trying to make heads or tails of S series and Y series and thinkpads and notepads.
Today when I'm stressing about money and credit card debt and emergency saving accounts if I lose my job.

But yesterday, was completely different.
Yesterday, I was walking down Chicago Avenue on my way home from work.
Yesterday, I decided to walk the whole way home because the weather was nice.
Yesterday, I was feeling jaunty and optimistic and as I crossed over the Chicago River, I started to think of the That Girl theme song.

My Home is not your *#$%^&@ Walmart!

I'm really tired of coming home to a wide open door or window to find that someone has broken or jimmied a window while I was out, climbed into my apartment, and stolen all my stuff.

When it happened in February, it was really annoying (I had just bought a stupid new TV because of the digital signal thing)but I was able to shake it off relatively quickly. This time, I feel much more violated. The burglars moved some backyard furniture under a window, easily pushed up an insecure latch, gently moved my fern off the window sill, and climbed in. They clearly spent some time shopping through my house as opposed to the grab and run with my TV and DVD player last time.

This time they stole 2 pillow cases (to load up my stuff), TV, DVD player, laptop, digital camera, my iPod shuffle, and my Pentax K-1000. They didn't seem to like my jewelry but did take a black onyx ring my mom bought me for high school graduation and a sterling silver, celtic knot pin I bought in Scotland. I did not realize the ring, the pin and the K-1000 were gone until well after the police left. They must have contemplated stealing the blue kimono hanging on my door, pulled out the stuff under my bed, went through my underwear drawer, and searched my closets.

I'm not overly attached to my things but I also can't afford to replace all the stuff that could be replaced right now either. I have to say that the pillow on the bed that was touched so they could take the pillow case, that's going into the dumpster because it feels all dirty and touched by evil. I've also lost all the photos on my memory card, many backed up on my laptop, and it really bothers me that someone could look through my photographs.

I just spent all stupid morning changing passwords and I had to call the bank yesterday in case any of the accounts I may set to auto login would give information to someone to get into other accounts. Unlikely but better safe than sorry.

The only bright spots here are that I had my big iPod with me and once again the burglars did not like my Dyna stereo. That on top of the fact that I wasn't in my apartment at the time and bludgeoned to death do make me feel better but not quite enough to keep me from waking up a dozen times in the middle of last night with a stomach ache from stress and anxiety.

%$%* you, burglar! You are a dirty, pathetic piece of crap that will never accomplish anything with your life at the rate you are going. I hope you enjoy your time skulking in alleys trying to figure out if there are mean dogs inside a house or not. I hope you like it back there with the rabid rats and trash. That last guy, I could even generate a glimmer of perspective that in this bad economy, desperate people do despicable things like snatch a TV to pawn. But new burglar, when you went shopping though my costume jewelry drawer and decided there was nothing very valuable there but hey, maybe your girlfriend would like my ring, you crossed even that line. And bring your own bags and keep your hands off my pillows.

So you think you can love me and leave me to die?

It is only fair after a post like that, for anyone who might consider listening to every recorded version of Wish You Were Here out there, to mention that the antidote to Pink Floyd bawling is ...... Freddie Mercury.

Bohemian Rhapsody works best for me.

Honestly. It's like an adrenalin shot right in the heart during cardiac arrest.

"So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye."

Can you tell ... A smile from a veil

Once every year or so, I find myself absolutely bawling to Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here. I'm not gonna lie, these episodes usually happen after red wine or whiskey. But they are pure bawling, longing for everything that has not worked out and every person who is gone. Tonight is one of those nights. My eyelashes hurt from the weight of tears.

I've had two memorable Wish You Were Here episodes in the past few years. One was in a Kalamazoo coffee shop. It was about 11 am (no wine or whiskey involved!) and the song hit me unexpectedly when I was thinking about getting a bagel. I had taken the train to see a friend's band, gotten up early the next day to see a Dale Chihuly exhibit and then stopped off with a magazine to wait for the train home. It was a wave of knock the feet out from beneath me loneliness.

The other time was a drunken whiskey night and when I posted on my regular message board, my DJ friend came on, read my post and told me "Step Away from the Floyd." Good advice on nights like this. Shine on you Crazy Diamonds, but step away from the wine and the Floyd.

Drinking Wine with Edith Tonight

Today I got news that a grant I spent all stupid August writing has been funded! The project will give some otherwise unemployable academic types jobs and make a whole bunch of 18th Century French documents accessible to researchers.

For me personally, it means a butt load of work in the upcoming years and that tonight I am going to drink some snobby French wine and listen to Edith Piaf and Mireille Mathieu until I just can't take it anymore.

Six Silly Sailors

Apparently my love of drunken musicians is long standing (I seem to have lost interest in sailors though.) While at my mom's house the other week, I found some old school projects, mother's day cards, and several "coupon" books that reveal I considered cleaning my bedroom a gift rather than an obligation. This particular poem and drawing was from the 9-year-old me and is found in a book called "My Creative Book." My favorite part is the musical notation that displays a creative flair but complete lack of understanding.

I still love to look at music even though I can't read it or play anything. In my current job, I sometimes come across a book in which the binder has used manuscript waste and scraps for the covers and pastedown leaves. As printed copies of books were made, some libraries replaced their manuscript copies. Materials were expensive though and manuscript leaves are beautiful, so the parchment was repurposed. While it's sad that the older manuscripts have not survived intact, I'm glad that some of these pieces are still around. The best covers are those that use leaves of music.



This site from Princeton is interesting.

Not Right Now

Every good Michigander knows that at the end of the "Toledo War" Michigan ceded its claim to the Toledo strip in exchange for the Upper Peninsula. At the time, Ohio thought it got the good part of the bargain but even in terms of chili (Lafayette Coney Dogs vs. Tony Packo's Hungarian Chili) we made out like bandits.

Listening to the Low Anthem's To Ohio the other day though, I have to admit that in the battle of great songs that name drop the state, Ohio kicks Michigan butt. If Neil Young was the only one ever to write a song about Ohio, they'd win the war.

As far as poetic flow, it's hard to beat "Ohio." It's short; it begins and ends with "O." But Ohio has good geography going for it too: Midwestern with a touch of the South. Which brings me to my other favorite Ohio song, Gillian Welch 's Look at Miss Ohio. A friend bought me Soul Journey not long after it came out because he loved it and thought I would too. He was right, especially that song.

(do it)

I'm officially signed up to Hustle Up the Hancock next February and now you can learn to hustle too:

Sarah Connor Wouldn't Run, She'd Stand and Fight

On a good day, I've got about 8k in me. This morning, as I was running the Hot Chocolate 15k, I asked myself (numerous times) why I sign up for these impossible feats of athleticism. Sure it was a gorgeous morning and it was a lakefront trail but, honestly, I would much rather walk those 9.32056 miles and enjoy the morning and the view. Running kind of ruins that part of it for me -- I'm a hiker, a stroller. I like a nice promenade.

So I decided to wrap my mind around my reasons for a few miles and come up with 9.32056 of them:

1. To avoid gaining another 15 pounds in my 40s and to help stave off the family tradition of heart disease, high blood pressure and through the roof cholesterol.

2. A playlist that includes Judas Priest into Kim Wilde.

3. The water at mile 7.5 tastes better than all other water in the world.

4. The thrill of pulling out all the stops in the last few yards to pass for good that old guy with the replacement hip and the speedwalking big guy in the t-shirt that says "60 pounds down, 100 to go."

5. Wearing a bandanna like Axl Rose while listening to Welcome to the Jungle.

6. Looking down to see that my fingers are swollen and look like little knackwurst. Or is it bratwurst? One of them is sickly grey color and that one is not me!

7. Tasting blood (from my cracked lip) and sweat while feeling a horrible stitch in my side. Pretending I am Sarah Connor with knife (laser?) wound and then playing "Who's Cooler?"
Who is cooler? Sarah Connor or Rocky? Sarah Connor.
Who is cooler? Sarah Connor or Ripley? Sarah Connor.
Who is cooler? Sarah Connor or Lara Croft?
Didn't see that one, so Sarah Connor.
Who is cooler? Sarah Connor or Linda Hamilton who trained with a Massad agent for a movie role?
Tough choice and reality should win here but ... Sarah Connor.

8. I'm too old to dress up like flapper, Halloween pub crawl the night before, and puke in a garbage can on the side of the street.

9. I temporarily convince myself that the Hustle up the Hancock will be so much easier than this and I should do it.

.32056. That cute little girl handing out a pillowcase full of fun-sized Milky Ways at the end!