It's Time I Got Beck

Beck's playing at Roy Wilkins tonight. No, I'm not going. I'm saving myself for Weezer Sat. Enjoy this video though staring the beck puppets. Yes-- he has puppets of his whole band and they make little videos of them, not just playing, but touring the towns they play and hanging out. Linda and I were talking about the potential of this idea-- creating alter egos in puppet form. Hmmm... Stay tuned.

Today is a welding day -- trees. Check out Beck in the player. If "Soul Of A Man" doesn't make you subtly grove something I can't help you. Also-- it is count down to Weezer week, so listen to "Hash Pipe" and "Good Life" and rock out.

Progress Check

Today was a welding day. It was pretty nice out until the wind kicked up later, so that made it easier to handle. My deadline loometh. As usual, it looks like some of my welds will still be hot when I'm loading the trailer.

This doesn't look like much but actually represents hours of work. They're "trunks" of trees for my famous "attractive little groupings of trees." They start out about 8 feet long and then I have to kind of mangle them by hand bending them through my vice so they look artfully random, then they get cut into three different lengths, again, randomness is the goal, so I obsess about varying this slightly, then all the ends need to be rounded off on the grinder. The little deals hanging off the front of my bench are the first branch unions.

These are also hand bent, then cut into a couple of lengths, slag removed, and welded. They are actually more "V's" than "W's", but you know-- it's "count down to Weezer week".... So they remind me of "w's"....

So my entire day amounted to basically this-- a pile of partially completed trees, only two of the sizes. I still have a pile of the smallest size trunks waiting for branches. The day began alright. My iPod was cooperating, playing all awesome music so I could at least jam out, but it kind of went downhill. My mojo kind of abandoned me as the day went on, and somehow the old iPod played B-side, after flippin' sterogum freebie, after B-side. Not jamtastic, not at all, and i was too busy to remedy this. I had wind problems, grounding issues-- without getting all technical-- both things that can make your welds less sweet than usual. I pride myself on my wicked welds, even though most people wouldn't know what they're looking at, so it pisses me off when they're less than perfect.

My hand began hurting too. This happens more the older I get (boo). I have a super strong grip from all this. If you ever find yourself dangling from a cliff by one hand I'm the gal you want to grab your wrist. I may be too weak to actually pull you up, but at least we can have a nice long talk while you hang there. When I do a ton of the same thing though, as with this "production mode," my thumb joint feels like it's about to give out. It's gotten bad enough that I couldn't even hold my toothbrush once when I was on a really tight deadline and couldn't stop.

The jewelry is coming along nicely. I'm making a lot more than I have other years in light of the whole econ sitch. I'm guessing $20 things may be easier to sell than $85 and up stuff. We'll see.

In other fasinating news, drumming practice went surprisingly well today. I still want actual drums, because the cookie sheet keeps sliding all over as I stomp on it and I keep having to fish it out from under the chair while trying not to lose the beat, an issue that I highly doubt plagues other musicians. But this is just a new-- hobby I guess. It's not like I have a deadline. No big gigs booked yet or anything. Pillow and cookie sheet it is, for now.

I needs to go running now. Take a listen to "Island In The Sun" by, you guessed it, Weezer in the player-- the song I'm going to start out to. It's not hard at all, so don't be afraid. You'll like.

When The Cat's Away...

So Dan's away on his man weekend and that leaves me to my own devices. I actually like having the place to myself occasionally. Some gal pals I know get kind of creeped-out by being alone but I digs it. Besides, what's to worry about? -- I have my ingenious scotch tape security system and all the watch cats, and of course that fact that my groovy driveway sharing neighbor's house is only like 50 feet away helps too...

So what do I do with all this uncharted, unobserved time? -- Let's take a looky.

1) The jamming out has been pretty unconstrained around here since the hubster pulled out of the driveway. Ordinarily I keep it to a courteous minimum-- except when he's mowing the lawn in which case I give him full-on sliding glass door rockfests when he drives by and taunt him by pretending I'm about to remove clothing. Yes-- it's hilarious.

Since he's not around to cringe I can just walk around the house belting out "hardest button to button" or "lithium" or "stacked actors" to my heart's content. No shower curtain required.

2) Drum practice on my rockin' pillow and cookie sheet. I also have begun using a pen in the car, trying to train my left arm to become a human metronome, which is surprisingly easy so far. I think something might have flipped in my brain suddenly making this easier to grasp-- at least with no sheet music in front of me.

3) Went to an art gig solo last night. Just as well, he really doesn't like going to openings etc much, although a lot of our friends were at this one so it was more fun. It was kind of like just a regular party, except there were some strangers wandering around buying art, scooting around us, and otherwise interrupting the consumption of free wine.

I added a bass player and maybe a lead guitar to my pretend band (nacho mama), and two guys have now offered to share their drumming expertise with me. One has a kit that he can't really use anymore (carpal tunnel-- bummage) and we may "work something out". He was trying to get me to trade away Dan's riding lawn mower for them last night but I resisted. Am I the dream wife or what? This would have upset Dan, and wrecked my sliding glass door rock shows, so I put my interests aside-- for him. Ahh love.

4) Jeans shopping. I did NEED new jeans. I have literally almost worked my ass all the way off, causing all my current pairs to practically sag off my back end. I'm happy to report I am officially letting go of my most superficial goal, which truthfully made me disappointed in myself anyway. It was to become skinny enough and rich enough to one day be able to shop at Anthropology. I don't have much money yet, but decided to go there and whet my appetite for all the stuff I could probably fit into now. They had tons of cute stuff, as always, but you know?-- cords just aren't worth 150 bucks to me. What are they?-- magic? Are they somehow synced right to your brain to give you an instantaneous gratifying massage anywhere you want? (If someone actually invents these magic "pleasure pants"-- I want a cut.)

I found my ass actually looked just as good in the jeans I picked up at JC Penny's (I know! -- but check it out, some actually cute stuff). I also got one pair of just plain good old levi's which are classics and you can get anywhere. Really, my butt cannot tell the difference. I guess it's a cheap date.

5) Curiously, "the normal" also took place. I always picture leaping through clouds of feathers fresh from some kind of amazing wild ninja pillow fighting solo action or, I don't know, making and eating a whole pan or brownies or something-- you know, some "parents away for the weekend" type hijinks. But all I wind up doing is working in the driveway, checking email, renting some flicks, getting a takeout pizza. Pretty tame. Oh well, I must conserve my energy for WEEZER next weekend!

Hope your Sat was a good as mine!

Attention Rock Scaredy Cats...

I think I can almost guarantee you'll like this week's Fri Fav Lyrics pick. It's a guy I just discovered on the current (single handedly saving music radio -- and they stream, you wild Canadians). He's Conor Oberst, (coming to first ave in oct...) and when I heard him compared to Dylan (as in Bob) I rolled my eyes and went-- "right." Then when I heard him-- I was blown away. I haven't been this excited lyrically for a long time. I can't wait to hear more. This is the kind of songwriting that makes us all better writers just like taking a dip in the poetry pool can. I'm just going to print out the whole awesome "Cape Canaveral" here for your enjoyment, and do take a listen in the player. This isn't my usual fare-- it's mellow and beautiful. Remember to support the artists you enjoy by buying their music.

Oh, oh, oh brother totem pole
I saw your legends lined up
And I never felt more natural
Apart, I just came apart

Please, please, please sister Socrates
You always answer with a question
Show some kindness to a petty thief
Forgive, you did forgive

Watch the migrants smoke in the old orange grove
And the red rocket blaze over Cape Canaveral
You’ve been a father to me
In 1960’s speak
In the comatose joy that we’re on TV
While the mountain’s side was shining
Wild colors of my destiny

I watched your face age backwards
Changing shape in my memory
You told me victory’s sweet
Even deep in the cheap seats

Hey, hey, hey mother interstate
Can you deliver me from evil
Make me honest make me wedding cake
Atone, I will atone

Wait, wait, wait mighty outer-space
All that flying saucer terror
Made me lazy drinking lemonade
A waste, it just went to waste

Like the Freon cold out the hotel door
Or the white rocket fade over Cape Canaveral
You’ve been a daughter to me
Your buried shoe-box grief
I felt your poltergeist love like savannah heat
While the waterfall was pouring
Crazy symbols of my destiny

I watched your face die backwards
Little baby in my memory
You told me victory's sweet
Even deep in the cheap seats

And you don’t judge me
That’s not your style
But I won’t see you for a little while
And there’s no worries
Whose got time
All these changes are going to fill your mind

Like the citrus glow off the old orange grove
Or the red rocket blaze over Cape Canaveral
It’s been a nightmare to me
Some 1980’s grief
Gives me parachute dreams
Like old war movies
While the universe was drawn
Perfect circles form infinity

I watched the stars get smaller
Tiny diamonds in my memory
I know that victory is sweet
Even deep in the cheap seats

Capping The Hydrant, Kind Of...

Ok so I've eluded to an energy fluctuation issue. It's just something I've learned about myself over time. I used to think of it as a problem-- "Why couldn't I just feel normal all the time?" Actually, "Why can't there be one thing long enough for it to become 'the normal'?" Then I learned my pendulum just swings. That is my normal. So I live kind of like a surfer-- watching for sets. The only time I don't like it is when a deadline forces me to shift gears, when it would be more convenient not to. I can. It just takes some management.

What it feels like when I'm having lots of energy and get pulled off a project-- (like being forced to make a bajillion earings and necklaces and dozens of attractive little groupings of trees etc for my show instead of working on my story)-- is like a firehose hooked up top a water wiggle. Frustrating and all over the place. Things like running, and hard biking help, because I can just let it gush out of me and it feels gratifying. Then when i'm done and some of the steam is vented off I can more easily focus. Try it sometime if you're feeling all nerved up, it helps.

Ok, so in light of all that oversharing I'm sure this---

looks pretty crazy. (You can click pic for bigger weirdness.) No i haven't lost it. These are some depictions of some of the ghosts from my novel. They're called "The Watchers." What do you think? Creepy? Disturbing? Kind of cool?

Other things that went on Wed-- behold my pretend drumset. The cookie sheet is my kick. It kind of sucks I have to say. Craig's has sets for around $300- $500, but I've only had two lessons. I don't think Dan will quite go for it. He was awesome when I broke the drum lesson news to him though-- no eye rolling, no saying, "where's this supposed to lead?" or shouting "LOOOOOSEEEEE!" He just kind of nodded and said, "Well, I go on fishing trips and stuff. I guess we're pretty even." He knows there are some things I just need to do to keep the wheels from falling off. He says he likes my risk taking, because it's the opposite of him. (See why Dan Auerbach never had a chance?) (Still love you though Mr. Auerbach... as a friend.)

The other activity was making what I've been told is the best beef stew ever. I've never actually tasted it, being mostly a vegetarian, but Dan likes it and takes it to his annual "cabin weekend" with his pals. They used to call it "hunting", and reportedly there was a bit of strolling around carrying shotguns, but no one ever shot anything (yay). Then they went with "fishing trip" for a while, but again, not really any fish. In actuality all that happens is a lot of poker playing and beer drinking, and, now that they're all middle aged, a lot of being hung-over and lamenting about how they just can't party like they used to. Anyway, Dan likes it, the guys like it, it's one small thing I can do to make him happy-- so I make sure it happens. Ahh love.

Today is thurs and I just returned from drum lesson # 2 where we actually worked on "boom che boom boom che" the whole time, trying to count measures and land on a cymbal crash. God I'm hopeless, not really, I can keep the beat at least, but it definitely uses my brain a different way than I'm used to, and it is really fun, even if I'm dorkily nervous around Tyler.

Tomorrow I attend my first meeting with the loft novel writers. I'm nervous, but have prepared my feedback. I hope it's a good fit.

If you want to check out my training wheels tempo for drum practice check out "My doorbell" in the player by Jack flippin' White and The White Stripes.

The Black Keys Visit My Driveway!

Me: "Pat! Dan! Wow-- I can't believe it! What the heck are you guys doing here? How are you?"

Pat: "Hey Sue-- We're good, we're good. Wow, you look awesome. Doesn't she look great man?"

Dan: (beaming) "Yeah man, she totally does."

Pat: "Well, we heard you finally got "Attack and Release" over on iTunes and we thought we'd just stop on by and see what you thought of it."

Dan: "Yeah," (kind of nervously) "So, How'd you like it?"

Me: "Well, I have to tell you guys, when I heard about this last album I was reticent. One of the reasons I love you is your whole, "let's just throw a cardboard box over that mic and record this sucker in an old tire plant" indie thing. When I heard you were bringing in some hiphop guy to produce... But I have to say, after listening... --it totally won me over!"

Pat: "Seriously? Wow, thanks."

Dan: "Yeah, that means so much coming from you. (tearing up a bit but still totally maintaining his manliness) It kind of makes it all worthwhile, the touring, the road food, all the work..."

Me: "Well, I mean it! -- Strange Times?-- Pat you were on fire man! Those opening drums rocked my socks! And "Psychotic Girl"?-- that tinkley piano bit?-- creepily cool man."

Pat: "We totally wrote that one for you."

Me: "Yeah, I figured. But Dan, there is something I need to talk to you about..."

Pat: "Here it comes dude."

Dan: (bracing himself) "Yeah?"

Me: "So He Won't Break"? -- not to mention "Act Nice And Gentle"? You have to stop trying to make me fall in love with you, seriously. I already have a Dan with deep soulful eyes. I love you guy, just not in that way. The female repelling beard?-- I know you've been trying to save yourself for me, but you need to move on. I'm old enough to be your cool babysitter."

Dan: "Did you see how I paid tribute to you in that video (see bottom of post)-- the lady who tried to come up to me while I'm playing?"

Me: "Yeah, Thanks. Anyway, this isn't healthy. You need to drop it."

Dan: "But we totally have that..." (Here his does that thing where he flicks his fingers between our sets of eyes.)

Me: "I know. I know honey. We'll always have that."

Dan: "And that mmph..." (peering longingly into my face)

Me: "I know-- we'd burn the fricking house down. But it's not going to happen. (Now I gently touch his arm) You know how special you are to me, but we can only be friends."

Pat: "Ugh-- dude."

Me: "Are we ok Dan?"

Dan: (smiling and giving me a little sideways hug) "Oh sweety, we'll always be ok."

Pat: "God I'm bored with this. Can you make me a sandwich or something?"

Me: "Sure. Come on you knuckleheads."

Hey-- Just because I can't write full time right now doesn't mean there's not still a whole lot of fiction happening... Seriously-- give these guys a listen and buy their music.

Fricking youtube's embed failed-- again! (or, I guess, disabled. It was me.)-- just use the link to see their rocking (and hilarious video) in which the part of "ME" is played by a professional actress...

HERE

Chicken Of The Sea Disturbia

Awwwe. What could possibly be wrong and bad about this adorable carving of what appears to be a perfectly happy nine year old girl? Look at her little smirky smile....

"Akk!" Do I even need to explain it people? -- No, no I do not. This reminds me disturbingly of Brittany Spears. No wonder that poor girl got so messed up. Thank you, a million times, to whoever put those shells on her.

My energy has been all over the place the last few days. Anyone ever seen the "Annuell" video from SNL? (sit thru commercial, worth it) TMI I know, but-- it is what it is. Sorry. A blaster of a short run this morning took care of some of the ugly. The rest of the day will be spent jamming out, welding, and thinking over the whole story line of #2-- which I'm now unsure of (natch), constructing some kind of pretend drum set in the spare room so I can practice (it would be truly humiliating to be lectured by Tyler at my next lesson) , being thankful, on behalf of humanity, that I have no psychic powers than make annoying people and bad drivers vaporize, and of course, obsessive email checking.

If you want to get a reading of my mood today check out "monkey wrench" in the player. Scarily I do know the entire section that is nothing more than a screaming scree by heart. Thank you Dave Grohl. Some days it just helps to know you're not the only lunatic out there.

Having A Sail

Went on the annual "yaya" sailing trip on White Bear Lake today. As always, it was perfect in every way-- sunny skies, moderate temps, light winds, good food... This is Jim, Sue's husband and our ever faithful (read; long-suffering) boat captain. He's never been captured on film or otherwise. His name may not even be Jim.....
This is me demonstrating my rendition of Michael Phelps's "Help- my mouth is too big for all my teeth" smile. I also dislike having my picture taken, despite all bloggular evidence to the contrary.

These are the fabulous yayas. Actually, I don't really use that name-- yayas anymore, although I'm pretty sure some of the rest do. Shortly after we began meeting 12 years ago we all read that book-- you know the one, "The Divine secrets of the yaya sisterhood," and like throngs of others drank the koolaide and decided we needed to form our own tribe of yayas too. You know how I get about popular things-- boooooo. Now I just call these my "wed night girls". They are divine though don't you think? -- artists and / or writers all. From the left me, Sue (who lets us ride in her boat), Lynn, and Kris.
The group formed around a workshop organized by blondie over there (my genius writer pal Kris) based on the book "The Artist's Way". If you are creative in any way, and sorry to discriminate but female-- (it's not specifically for women, I just have a hard time seeing a guy "go there" on many of the exercises-- Consider the gauntlet flung down dudes.)-- I highly recommend it.

I was going through another "out of the box" analytical phase when I hooked-up with these gals.

Since about age eleven I'd been running from one open gate to another in an attempt to create a life without fences. Nothing was going to tie me down once I broke for open ground. I'd dropped out of college and worked my way up the ladder of retail (you could still make yourself indispensable enough back then, if you worked really hard and had a brain, to circumvent a degree to some extent) without considering where the ladder was going-- into a box. Yuck.

For some reason I poked my head up long enough to take a good look around and pull the plug. What was the point of every chance I'd ever taken if I was going to wind up in a life I couldn't stand? It wasn't an overnight transformation. There have been a lot of missteps and pit stops along the way, but that book and these gals came along at a very pivotal point for me, and I'll always be grateful.

It's your life. Don't chicken out.

Big Casino

Check Jimmy Eat World's "Big Casino" out for this week's "Fri Fav Lyrics" pick.

"Back when I was younger
I was someone you'd have liked
Got an old guitar I had for years I'd let you buy
And I'll tell you something else
that you ain't dying enough to know;
There's still some living left when your prime comes and goes

Get up, get up
Dance on the ceiling
Get up, get up boy you must be dreaming
Rock on young savior
Don't give up your hopes

Lots of great lines. You the man Jim Adkins.
Have a great weekend everyone.

Big Thursday

Check it people--- my "out of the box" list?-- Mission freakin' accomplished, plus one, in pretty much one day. Oh my God am I stoked right now!

First of all exhibit A-- Behold Tyler, my new drum instructor. "Um, Can I keep him mom?-- I promise to feed and walk him every day!" Seriously, he's not just cute, a musician (aka cat nip), and youthfully spunky (it's so endearing, the enthusiasm, the optimism, the sparkliness), but he's very nice, patient, seems to know what he's doing(?), and the artwork adorning his practice room indicates he is apparently loved by the towns folk's kiddies. Me likey so far. Ever since my first lesson today a steady, insistent "Boom, che, boom boom che" has been running through my head. Jamtastic!

Exhibit B-- Trusty Pam and I actually rode the mountain bike course today-- not the whole thing, but the beginner loop and a section of the intermediate. As you can see Pam acted as my stunt double once again. She took this dirt half pipe the trail snakes through in an "S" full blast and executed an impressive sliding sider. Usually when we run this thing I stick my arms out as if flying. It's a huge dip. Pam likes speed. A lot. This gets her into trouble. If only I had some kind of camera crew following her. Truly pamtacular. Last winter she wiped out on her bike and wound up making an inadvertent snow angel that missed being a dog poo angel by about an inch and a half. Luckily she seems to be made of some impervious space age material.

Exhibit C-- Ok, This wasn't on my list-- this is the plus one. These shoes...................(suspense building, building)......WILL TOTALLY BE GOING TO WEEZER OCT 4TH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I've expressed my Weezer-love before, but for the uninitiated; I love the "scampering" quality of their rock, and the unabashedly boyish dorkiness, both accomplished with kerrangtastic guitars.

Floor tickets people-- that's right, right in the middle of the flailing, jumping around, rocking action. My husband's nephew and his girlfriend and I are going together. They're about 23 or 4, so they're my "cover". I'd never have the guts to go alone. When I was young I was too poor to go to concerts. Then I got, you know, old-----er. Now I'm thinking, "what the hell?" I still feel all rowdy, I love music, and now that I'm cloaked in my layer of awesome fortyness, I can interact with all the rocking out people without risk of, you know, complications. Nobody there will be looking at me, or mistaking my totally jamming out for being secretly in love with them or whatever. I am going to totally unleash the rocking-out at this thing... be afraid, be very afraid-- or be enthused, if you're afraid just keep it to yourself harshmallow.

--Ahem,...Ahh, if anyone has any Weezer connections that may get me backstage--- coolage.

Lastly, Exhibit D-- OK, I said I wanted to find a writer's group, hopefully affiliated with The Loft-- one has magically appeared. Some folks who've already gone through the advanced novel writing program wanted one more member for their group and have invited me to attend a meeting. This is certainly a "Let's see if it's a good fit" thing I'm sure. But two people who's work is being discussed sent me their pages today and I meet them next week. I'm excited and nervous, but mostly excited. It feels like a lot of stuff is suddenly falling into place. I'm diggin it.

Salute My Solution

Get your rock on!
Check out Jack flippin' White and the fabulous Raconteurs rocking your face off in the video for "Salute Your Solution." I defy you to shake nothing people. (Come on, you know you want to.)

So in an effort to embrace my shift to welding mode I composed a little list as I was working today.

THE PROS AND CONS OF WORKING IN MY DRIVEWAY

1) Pro- Maximum jamming out time. When I'm writing that's impossible - need to concentrate. But in the driveway I can hold my own all day iPod rave.
Con- No real downside here, except possibly for the neighbors who occasionally witness this spectacle or overhear me "whooping" guitargasmically along with Jack.

2) Pro- Proximity to computer allows me to obsessively check email every couple of hours for possible agent replies.
Con-- See above.

3) Pro- Being outside allowed me to beat the cats to the stunned bird who smashed into my window this morning and save it from being devoured.
Con- Being outside allowed me to become riddled with guilt when said bird went into cardiac arrest and died in my hand. If only I'd had a very tiny crash cart... and some kind of bird medical training.

4) Pro- Able to enjoy occasional welding mojo; sweet welds, awesome cuts, pretty rust, etc.
Con- It's not writing, and I miss hanging out with my cool characters all day.

5) Pro- Not in a cubicle or in some occupation requiring high heels and/or fake smiling or (shudder) math.
Con- Pretty much no down side here either.

All in all, I have to admit I have it pretty sweet. Not to rub it in but I have to wrap it up now and go throw the kayaks on the car. It's almost time for trusty Pam to get off work.

Doll Disturbia

Some of you know of my aversion to nearly all dolls really, not just the extraordinarily creepy ones. On some level they all are creepy, either as weirdly corpse-like effigies or as some kind of sinister programing device for little girls. (I know, I know, probably just me...)
I had to share this "evidence" from the hilarious cake wrecks blog. Check it out.

Suit Up

Ok troops-- We have eight weeks until the next show, so it's time to suit up and get welding. What's that you say?-- "What a cute necklace and earring's?" "Why thank you!"
(More on them later.)

This is my other office, besides the comfy chair and thesaurus, dictionary and note encrusted ottoman in my living room-- and of course the lawn chair. This is temporary or so I've been told for the last year and a half. Really, by the end of September I may actually have my own shop with walls and a ceiling and everything. What's that again?-- "Nice heron?" "Oh, thanks." You can pick one of these guys up at the show for around $200 (or a pair, hate to split them up you know). A "steal" wouldn't you agree? -- haha.

As for the jewelry -- jewelry central -- aka my dining table is all fired up and in full production mode. This time around I'm doing earrings too, but don't worry, I'll still have plenty of necklaces. (both just $20!) By the way, I'm totally getting that coat. Is it rock-star or what?

Ooooo, examine the cute-age.

Don't you just want them all??

Ok. I'm even making myself sick now, but it's hard to psych up at the beginning. The writing has been totally calling my name for the last year. When I do visual art, it mostly happens as I'm doing it. There may be some planning, especially with commissions, but for the most part I just do it.

The writing is far more obsessive. Of course when I'm actually writing-- putting words on the screen-- it's happening, but it's going on continually, almost every waking moment too. The characters and story are always rattling around in my head, talking to me when I'm running, biking, watching t.v... Often Dan will ask me something, about a show or whatever, and I'll have to say, "I have no idea." I've just been sitting there staring blankly ahead while other things have been unfolding in my mind. It's hard to switch that off and get into welding mode, but that's what has to happen right now.

It usually gets easier the more I work. Ideas (visual) come as I'm working with the tools and equipment, and I begin to be soothed by the meditative work, grinding, hammering slag, cutting, welding. I'm not sure I can totally go cold turkey on the writery stuff though. There may have to be some moonlighting.

Disturbia Round-Up

Just a reminder there is still an open call for disturbia submissions. You can send them to my email, which you can get to through the "a closer look" profile page. These were contributed by Linda and were all taken at the Junk Bonanza. Sometimes when you get on a disturbia roll, everything begins to look suspiciously unsettling and you wonder if it's just you. But then you see something like this sign and know, -- no. It's definitely out there, waiting to be discovered.
Grandpa must have been an interesting guy. Poor grandma.
(Remember you can click on any pic for a bigger weirder view.)

This booth was so distubia jam-packed Linda scarcely knew where to aim the camera first. This squirrel, posed with petrified minature corn kernels, was sitting below the mounted head of a baby bear, who had no eyes. Sorry, but that's what was there. Gulp.


This was a different booth. The peeling nekkid doll is weird enough, but that thing next to it-- was actually a limbless, headless white painted (?) doll torso. "Oh, how adorable." Yes, and these were both available for purchase. Get 'em while they're super old and creepy.

This was also in the taxidermy booth of grandpa's horrors. The deer actually looks rather dapper, considering....

I almost omitted this one. It's not really that bizarre, until you notice not only does the cowboy look a little like country star Randy Travis, and not only is his hair apparently so poufy his hat is sitting stiffly a good eight inches above his actual head, but he has no eyes!!!
(Ok, this one could be just me starting to get creeped out by almost anything at this point.)

This was wierd though. A toy indian set just isn't complete without the white shrouded dead one with his arms crossed over his chest... The one in the headache yellow outfit seems disturbingly nonplussed.

Thanks Linda. Everyone else-- keep those eyes distrubingly peeled.

Fringe Fest

Big score yesterday at the Junk Bonanza-- Huge!
I got this jacket for only $25!

This is something I've always wanted and now that I finally have one it's bringing up a little almost forgotten history from back in the paleolithic era. I had just turned eighteen and moved out into the big wide world much to my parent's horror. I really kind of pulled the rug out from under them and just packed up my stuff and left. I wasn't afraid of anything except feeling caged up. Suddenly the world seemed full of open doors. The paint on the road was only paint, not a boundary. Rules I'd always taken for granted seemed superfluous. I was fearless. This was America. I wouldn't starve. That was the summer I hung around a lot with a guy who would have scared the crap out of me only a few years before.

He had long scraggy blond hair, a prominent adam's apple, and a brooding, edgy, bad boy nature that sucked me right in. He was on the fringe of our little group, kind of an outcast, a little too intense for my other friends. We listened to music, spouted philosophy, flouted convention and told all our big secrets. We spent many nights driving around talking until almost dawn. He had a fringe jacket he let me wear all the time. His eyes would drill into me almost every time I looked at him.

We were just friends. I had a boyfriend that I wasn't that into, and the Dan switch hadn't quite been flipped yet. Thinking back I realize this poor guy was probably pretty into me, but back then I didn't get that-- that guys who want to be super big friends with you are usually back burnering you, biding their time. It didn't pan out for him. Last time I saw him he'd just gotten into a fight with one of the other guys. After letting the little crowd that gathered know what he thought of them all -- not much-- he took off for parts unknown, saying he was going to go look for Neil Young, just wanted to shake his hand.

In honor of Greg go ahead and listen to "Out of the Blue" in the player. It's the fav lyrics line pic this week for "It's better to burn out than to fade away."


I have a horrid cleaning day ahead of me though, and am not really there mood-wise, so if you're feeling twitchy and frenetic like me, you can check out Nirvana's "Breed." It's just unfiltered excess energy blasting away.

The Way-Back Machine

Yes folks, this isn't 1963. It's now. This is Duffy singing "Mercy". What is it with Britain lately producing all these bluesy retro-pop songstresses? Whatever is in their water over there, I'll take seconds. It's in the player too. Enjoy.

Out Of The Box

So last night I had girl's night out with my friend and a new friend who is really cosmic. I made a bonfire outside my nearly completed shop and we talked until midnight. Then when I came inside after they left could I just go to sleep like a normal tired person -- no. No I could not. I had to stay up another two hours reading and rehashing all the cosmicness. Now I'm sitting here still trying to wake up but mostly staring blankly off into space wishing I had the where-with-all to go get some caffeine. Enough is enough. Be right back.

Ok. A little better now.

So among the things my new cosmic friend shared with me was that I should be trying lots of new things right now to shake things up. I already had a few things in mind but now feel even more encouraged to go for it. I think if you don't force yourself out of your box you can begin turning into an "old person" at almost any age. I'm not ready for that yet. Actually I hope to be still finding new things to try out well into my eighties or nineties.

I really have been into the idea of drum lessons lately. I think I'll go for it. The worst that can happen is that I'll try it, be hopelessly bad at it or not think it's as fun as I thought it would be, and possibly be laughed at by some employees of the local music store. Or--- it could be super fun (like it looks) and I could discover I have some weird, savant-ish, undiscovered drumming mojo and become so good my beloved Foo's would call and ask me if I'd consider hanging out with them, you know, just playing ping pong and maybe sitting in on a few songs.

Another Idea I have is mountain biking. This involves some risk. Both trusty Pam and I have taken spectacular spills running the course lately. Mine I'm calling a rolling sider, or corndog, because I tripped and sailed shoulder first into the dirt and proceeded to tumble and roll downhill becoming coated in a layer of tasty cornbread -- er-- no, actually dirt. Pam more or less launched herself shoulder first into a log. While it stopped her from tumbling downhill, it was pretty painful.

When we run we always encounter mountain bikers who mostly seem really cool and almost superhumanly brave. There are these two guys we always see who we call our pretend boyfriends behind their backs. To their face we call them "the cool guys." I peg them as either graphics or music guys, or possibly one of those engineer hybrids who are sort of geeky-cool. Every time we run by them they each make a point of saying hi, which in guy world is making a concerted effort of some kind. One will say, "oh you guys -- hey," and the other will smile and say, "hi." Then one of us will go, "Hey, it's the cool guys!" Yes, it's pretty intense. We're practically engaged. One of them has glued horns to his helmet that both me and Pam are jealous of.

To be honest, the possibility of a blinged-out mountain biking helmet is probably about 40% of the allure for me. Right now I ride with a regular helmet with magnetic poetry glued on saying stuff like, "ride like a girl." (You know, in other words -- awesomely.) I also have an orange bandanna tied to my camelback that sometimes flares out behind me like Underdog's cape. My bike has a giant, old-school bike bell on it and a handlebar hula girl who squeaks when you squeeze her. I used to have a little Wonder Woman figure glued on top of my back light who would shake her fist at all the people left in the wake of my blistering speed, but she broke off.

For the mountain bike helmet I'm considering a black "eight ball" helmet from Nutcase. Yes, it even says that on the front. I like that guy's horns but don't want to be a copier, so am thinking of orange, pink and red accented flames, maybe in rhinestones. Kind of Evil Kenevel right? Then of course there's learning how to actually ride the trail, but hey, once the outfit is squared away I'm sure the rest will fall into place.

Lastly I think I'm going to bite the bullet and find a writing group. Probably somehow affiliated with The Loft. This is a scary one for me -- exposing my writing to the criticism of strangers, especially other possibly frustrated writers, but could be helpful. You know, "growth." (ugh.)

So what would be some things that you guys would consider trying, to shake things up, take you out of your box? It's your life -- don't chicken out!

"Neice-o-tism" Alert

It's my niece Megan's 7th birthday. We've always had a special relationship, our own thing.
(No that's not a dunce hat.)
(But that is my Mom looking on in a helplessly amused fashion.)

When Megan was born I was full of apprehension. The holes in my life have never been baby shaped, so I was worried what this new world would mean for my sister. It seemed like a huge, terrifying, irreversible step, one I'd never in a million years take. But when I met her, my little baby niece, we had this immediate eye contact thing, and I'd say to her, "I already know you don't I?" I felt very attuned to her, the frustration she felt being trapped in a rubbery unreliable body that often betrayed her in humiliating ways. I felt she couldn't wait to take command of her self, of her life.

See, I'm not a baby person, or a toddler person. The whole pants wetting, crying thing -- not into it. Feces? Gross. Boogers? Not a fan. I am much more of a snotty teenager whisperer than a baby whisperer. (Give me your sardonic, your bitter, your smart alec huddled masses yearning to be free. What the heck, throw in the retched refuse too.) Kids don't really seem like sentient beings to me until they can at least talk. (Mom's of the world -- don't bother refuting this. It's just my take -- relax.) Anyway, I was anxious to interact with her when she learned to walk and talk to find out who this person really was.

I went to visit and we were both happy to see each other, maybe a little nervous too. Her mom gave us a few minutes alone and I said, "Ok, I'm going to take your picture. You can do anything you want and I'll take it." She ran straight over to this statue of a woman on this shelf and picked it up and raised it over her head like the tour de france trophy-- completely victorious. I later found out she'd been ordered to NEVER touch it. Right away I knew -- this kid would be my protege.


She's always had a fierce independent streak, constantly fighting to claim her very own space in the world where she can stand as her own person, apart, indomitable. Sometimes Katie gives me a sidelong glance and says, "Thanks," claiming she somehow got this from me, like I transmitted my Svengali-like rebel vibes right into her womb. Part of me likes this ridiculous notion and would like to believe it.

For now her Mom takes great pains to hover protectively nearby, while allowing this part of her to take root. Kudos to my sister for seeing this isn't a problem, something to crush or smother.

Megan has always wanted to be taken seriously. This has sometimes involved hats.

Like her mother, she's always been a tree hugger. In Texas that constitutes being an extremist radical (Good lord, she even recycles-- what next?!), earning them bonus karma points. (and sue points)

When she came to visit us in our new location in the secret woods this face happened. It has that effect on lot's of people.

She's always had a special relationship with her uncle Dan, sometimes overcome by the same feral "love attacks" that used to possess my sister when she was little.

Whenever he's home she can be found somewhere close by, orbiting.

Yes-- She can even lead him around by his little finger. He'd follow her almost anywhere and she's totally in love with him. I like to think it's because he radiates goodness (all my friends are in unanimous agreement that he beams some kind of good guy vibe out of his eyes), and is self-possessed enough to act fearlessly goofy (something little kids appreciate). He truly doesn't give a crap about what people think.

Yeah, they're big pals.

She's always been into art too. Something I've naturally encouraged.

She's never seemed plagued with that weird neurotic humility about it though. I remember when I was little it was a little embarrassing, almost shameful. Of course I wanted people to approve of me, to think I was good at art, but not to notice too much, like there was something bad about being in the spotlight-- something pushy and conceited and decidedly un-midwestern.

Thankfully, she's able to revel in it. She is a good artist, and she loves it, and I think loves that about herself. How wonderful. Look how happy and proud. Freaking awesome!

So there you have it. Happy Birthday Megan. We love you a ton. I put "Seven Nation Army" by The white Stripes at the top of the playlist again since it was her favorite song this summer when they visited. She'd point and sneer and snarl and strut, singing along to this defiant almost martial tune. This little force of nature is going to be something else as she gets older, and I couldn't be more thrilled.

Our Lives, Our Coal...

The favorite lyrics nod this week goes to Jimmy Eat World for "Bleed American". Check this high octane rockfest out in the player for an instant energy boost.
So many good lines, "I'm not crazy 'cause I take the right pills, every day..." "Our hearts, littering the topsoil -- Sign up, the picket line or the parade, Our lives, Our coal."

The band got it's name from unassuming front man Jim Adkins' little brother. When they were kids he got mad at Jim and drew a picture of him as a monster and wrote that caption under it, "Jimmy eat world." Great band name huh?

Still working towards the next show. Tomorrow may have pics to post of the latest-- earings and necklaces with steel pendants. I like-y.

Yesterday's run was even more exciting than usual because there was a mountain bike race being held at the course. Where I run it's an advanced level course that is about 7 1/2 miles. I run about 4 or 5 of it. It twists and turns mercilessly through thick forest and brush and is mostly either accent or descent, usually on a steep rock and root strewn embankment-- so you have to remain totally alert the entire time to maintain your agility and so you can jump out of the way of the bikers.

Last night the race hadn't started yet, and I had plenty of time to get my run in, but didn't anticipate all the guys taking practice runs. I know this sounds crazy, but this heightened the fun factor quite a bit for me. Having to stay so completely focused for a good 40 minutes, all while running-- throw in a few thrilling near misses. Let's just say by the end I was totally jazzed.

I know, probably a sign of something off. But it feels really good to feel so "plugged in". "My life, my coal", being burned my way....
Anything get you going like that? Any other adrenaline junkies out there?

Back To Slag Hammering

Here's another pic from my slag hammer collection, soon to be appearing on my new Moo cards.

Today will be spent welding and jamming out, and researching an air cleaner for the new shop (fascinating! - not really) . One of my favorite clients (Super nice couple, Wisconcinites, like art, are Unitarian-- What's not to like?) allowed me to push their commission back for the umpteenth time until after my show Nov 7th, so I can concentrate on getting ready for that.

I'm not super awake yet. I'll let caffeine and "Johnathan Fisk" do the job (check it out in the player, Spoon tune.) Later -- a run with the crazy, fearless, indestructible mountain bikers sounds good. Time to weld. I need to turn this up. Lead me to the Diet Coke.

Above And Beyond The Call Of Kitchen Table Duty

Ok, Here's what accumulated on and around my rather small, unassuming, uncomplaining kitchen table in a mere week's time;

-- A dust mask
-- 2 pairs of safety glasses
-- A whisk broom (new-- this could change our whole lives!)
-- A xeroxed picture of a giant spider (for identification purposes)
-- A jumbo 10,000 candle unit rechargeable flashlight (for the nightly cat round-up)
-- A can of "off"
-- My leather work gloves (they give me super powers-- ask Dan, my might increases tenfold!)
-- A draft of query that elicited the comment, "well, you never know what people will be into" from a friend (I revised it immediately)
-- 2 books on cd's, that my parents couldn't remember who the author was or what they were called, but thought were good.
-- 2 reusable trader joe's bags
-- Half a bread bag of old bottle caps from a friend (I want to cover my picnic table with them)
-- A "current" radio button from state fair
-- Some "math" (shudder) (mysterious numbers on scraps of notepaper)
-- An assortment of Menard's receipts
-- One of those weird round t.v. antennas (? I think this, the math, and the receipts were part of a "Dan-pile" that got engulfed by the larger "mega-pile")
-- A batik Indian bedspread (from the day I edited in my "branch office" -- the lawn chair)
-- My bike helmet (that's kind of where it lives)
-- My camelback (a backpack that you drink water out of when you bike, but come to think of it, would be awesome for margueritas too....If only I was still a semi-pro partier.)
-- Two bags of Doritos Dan was supposed to bring to work
-- A mystery bulb-- don't know if it's burned out or what
-- A shrink wrap dispenser
-- Another smaller flashlight (also for cat rounding up)
-- The fourth Stephanie Meyer book -- (AKA literary crack)
-- A mix cd for my sister and her rockin' kids (ting tings, duffy, hurricane, evil urges)
-- My niece's birthday gift (art supplies, nice ones, shhhh, don't tell)
-- Two bills-- oops, (not late yet-- whew)
-- A pen (something productive went on at some point when there was still exposed surface area)
-- My sunglasses (oh, that's where they went. Fortunately I have several back up pairs)
-- 5 pairs of shoes (on floor)
-- A crescent wrench
-- A cooler with 4 assorted beers (all different kinds) in it and 2 fake beers (for me) from a bonfire party sat night (woo! party down with those fake beers sue!)
-- One box of cat food

Quite amazing huh? I can hear you out there silently judging me. To me this isn't just a mess, it's evidence that I have a life. Judge away super clean people. (As if any of you would read this anyway) (I have a feeling slaghammer fans are more simpatico with me actually.)
Did you ever notice there are no "messy freaks" , only "clean freaks"? Hmmmm.

Hurricane

That was the first song that came on my iPod during this morning's awesome, rather cosmic run. Check it out in the player. I don't know much about this guy, but looked his video up on youtube in case I wanted to post that too, and it was horrifyingly dorky and bad. I can only hope he was trying to be ironic. The song is cool though, good to run to.

Cosmic? -- you ask. Yes! -- First of all I was uncharacteristically zippy (every song that played was like rocket fuel somehow. Thanks universe.), and not only that-- story #2 began telling itself to me again. This was somewhat surprising since I've been consumed with revising and proofreading #1 for the last couple months. But prior to that I had started #2, and am a good 30,000 words or so in. the stuff that came through was so good I wrote two pages of notes when I got home. God, I love this job! Now if someone would just start paying me.

In other news-- I had a "brush with cleaning" today. (shudder) A friend called and wanted to bring someone over for me to meet. My house looks like a hurricane hit it so I told her to give me a half hour so I could pick up (what an optimist). I knew I couldn't get it better homes and gardens clean in that time, but was only aiming for "not crazy".

I put on some music to help motivate me, but the first two songs that came on were so good (Broken Bricks and Gimme Stitches-- both in the player) all I did was kind of shuffle things around while I jammed out. Broken Bricks required full-on head whipping. What could I do?

Then my kitchen was so monumentally messy, I really thought I should document it for posterity, treating it kind of like an archeological dig. So I began listing the things that had collected on and around my kitchen table over the last week. Prepare to be amazed.... (see previous post actually. I guess that should be past tense. "Prepare to have been amazed" --just kidding- really, it's a writery joke. It's just not super funny.)

Luckily my friend called after only about ten minutes and said, "Never mind, just meet us up at Panerra." Whew.

Sex On Fire

What a gorgeous weekend it was! Anybody else having a hard time believing summer is supposedly over? The pic doesn't really have anything to do with anything. It's just "summery".

Ok ok, so the post title was quite a teaser. What? -- It's really hot out... It's the name of a new Kings Of Leon number. Check it out in the player. It builds from buzzy opening guitars into a slow burn then explodes. Great rock tune. On another rock note-- The Black Keys played the state fair Sat. night, opening for the Black Crows, which to me is weird. They shouldn't still be opening for anyone -- hello? Apparently the Star Trib's music critic agrees. See his review here. Also, check out "10 am Automatic" in the player (one of their numbers from sat night)

Today Dan had to work. It was too grossly hot to weld so I did more proofreading. You'd think I'd have found everything by now, but horrifyingly, every time I go through it I find more typo's and errors. I'm almost done, and am finished with the revision, the actual writing. Things are looking promising. I've gotten some fresh nibbles, (requests for partials and even a full-- writer speak for "agents have asked me to send them more"). This thing may see the light of day yet. I think it will. You'll hear about it here first people.

Ok, the laptop is baking my legs and it's super hot and humid, so I'm going outside now.
Rock on dudes.