Please say a little prayer or send good thoughts into the world for Adam today. He died yesterday, February 16, 2006, at home, in his favorite spot by the front gate. It was almost a year to the day since Kelly died–and I think there’s something poetic and right about that.
He was a great dog and a constant, caring companion until the end.
Many thanks to all the friends who gave him treats and cuddles over the years. He loved us all.
I love a challenge. So putting together a daylong music festival in less than a week should be FUN. After Wilma wrecked Greynolds Park things weren’t looking good for the ol’ Lumpy Sue Acoustic Music Fest. Even now there’s still no power, but the park assures us the roads will be clear and the festival grounds cleaned up. Sooooo we’re doing it. On generators if we have to. Friday, November 25. 11am to sundown. Spyder Harrison from Big 105.9 is even going to emcee, so that’ll be a new thing. Mark Kane, Shawn Snyder, Matt Sabatella, Ellen Bukstel, Lindsay Bell, and MPE are all definitely playing. Plus we just added Lou Dominguez (formerly of Snake Church) today. That means we only have 3 more spots to fill to have a full lineup for the festival, which benefits Habitat for Humanity–a great way to spend Thanksgiving, eh? So musician friends and friends of musicians unite–if you know anyone in South Florida who would be willing to play (erm, for free) for a good cause on Nov. 25, give ‘em my number or email address, will ya? We have spots for 20-minute sets at 11:30, 12:30 and 4:30. Oh, and Mr. Good, I’m really wishing you were gonna be in town–to debut your lovely new stuff LIVE and in person.
OK, so Stephanie sent a link that lets you discover which world leader you most resemble. She is Ghandi. I am fucking Bill Clinton. Not actually fucking him, I just am him. Or resemble him. Oh fer crissake. Here’s the link…try it, you’ll like it: http://www.similarminds.com/leader.html
The second day of my West Virginia visit has been good, although not much visiting so far. Mom’s at work until 4 or so; Dad left at 7am for the MBAA conference in Roanoke where I’m presenting tomorrow and where my stepmom already is; and I’m here watching their animals.
I am head over heels for my parents’ new dog (see previous post). Ranger is incredible. After all the poor guy’s been through, he looks at us all with such trust and love, it’s amazing. He was a little shy when I first met him…for about 5 minutes. Then he was rolling all over the place looking for tummy tickles. That lasts about a minute, then he’s up and running around again. Like any puppy, he wants to play. A lot.
(Did I just write "tummy tickles"? Oh dear God. What’s happening to me?)
I realized this morning that I neglected to pack the following items: shampoo, conditioner, hairdryer, hairbrush, toothpaste, pajamas, anything comfortable and/or warm to wear, shoes I can actually walk in, and allergy medicine. That means I am smelly, sneezy, clumsy, and cold.
Oh yeah, and thirsty.
I realized last night that my parents had no beer (ack!), and after 10 hours of traveling, it would have been nice to kick back with my personal beverage of choice. But it was late and I didn’t feel like driving–and I couldn’t go to the nearest store anyway, a gas station about 5 miles away. (After that it’s at least a 20-minute drive to get anywhere at all.) I couldn’t go to the local one, see, because my former stepdad works there, thus setting the stage for one of life’s awkward little moments–surprising recovering alcoholic former stepfather, newly divorced from mother, while buying beer at his place of employment. It’s a scene that could not possibly end well, and thus is to be avoided.
Headed back to West Virginia today. I always have such a mixed reaction to going home, but it’s beautiful there, and will be especially so now with the leaves changing.
My dad and stepmom have a new dog. His name is Ranger, and he’s part pitt bull, part who knows what. He’s famous, actually. His story was featured on CNN because he was so abused and neglected for so long by the time my stepmom’s sister rescued him that his puppy collar had fused into his neck as he grew. It had to be surgically removed. My dad says he’s really happy and adjusted now that he’s been there a while–nothing like 26 acres to run around on for a while after you’ve been through the wringer.
I’m hoping he can teach me a little something while I’m there.
I took a ride today on my new PINK bicycle.
It’s amazing how people react to a girl on a pink bicycle.
My neighbor’s little girl wanted to sit on it.
Another girl, a teenager, driving past me at the 7-11 yelled out her window that she loved it.
My dad is afraid I’ll get bike-jacked. He worries too much.
You can’t really see it in the picture, but the valve caps are little bowling pins. It has illustrations of Cosmopolitans (the drink, not the magazine) on the fenders.
If anyone is craft-y and has ideas of how to put weatherproof flowers on the basket, please share.
Other than that, I’m completely happy with my new purchase.
There’s something about having been an English major that makes writing anything at all a very difficult thing to do, let alone writing a blog that’s part journal, part missive. I think about reader response all the time…who will read this, what will they think? I find it very difficult to see this blogging thing as a "journal," as some of my friends do. Journal to me implies "private," and I can’t see this as anything but writing for an audience, with all the pressure and reward that implies to me as someone who’s done this for a living. Be witty, be entertining, be smart, and by all means get paid for it. HA.
I don’t know how people do this…share the details of their lives with all their friends, all at once. Not that there are any details worth repeating in mine. Details like what? I ate a South Beach bar for lunch today, walked the dog, there was a hurricane, then it was gone. I worked a little, played some guitar, blah, blah, blah.
The other day I got my hair cut…that was a big deal to me, so I wrote about it. (Thanks to everyone who commented on it.)
But really, now that that moment is over, what stops this blogging thing from being like those letters my mom used to get at Christmas from her suburban friends:
Dear ________________:
This year has been an exciting one for us. Tommy lost a tooth, Ginny lost her virginity. Bill and I are taking Prozac, and everything is fine.
Love,
__________________
I’m not bagging on blogging, I just don’t understand it, even though I’m doing it. I think that guy on LiveJournal who posted from New Orleans in the heart of Katrina was onto something, but his blog was almost like a news report: He was writing for everyone, so they’d have information. I guess he was also proving his manhood with all the survivalist stuff. Whatever. He had a reason.
Am I supposed to have a reason?
Right now this feels like navel-gazing, in front of a room full of people. I guess I’m experimenting to see how that feels, and I’m open to believing this medium can be more than that.
So, if anyone knows of links on the philosphy of blogging, I’d love to see them.
I don’t know what it is about hair, but it’s a big deal, isn’t it? I mean, what you look like, the kind of style you wear, it says something about you. Whether it’s the real you, or the you that you wish you were, it’s definitely a big part of your identity.
So when I cut my hair today, what the hell was I saying?
I don’t know.
But it looks kind of cool and I like it.
My friends think it’s awesome.
So what if I can’t wear pigtails anymore? I’m 33 years old.
So what if guys in BMWs will now pass me by in favor of the skinnier girl with the long blonde hair swinging down to her ass? Who wants a guy who cares more about his car than his conscience, anyway?
So what if I’ve now been introduced to the concept of "product" as a collective noun signifying a wide variety of goopy, sticky, mud-like substances?
My dad says I look like I looked when I was a kid. I changed the color, too, so I’m back to my natural brown. Red was my thing for a while, but I’m over it. It always wears off over time. That’s probably a metaphor for something, if I was working the poetic thing, but I’m not.
My ex stopped by today and didn’t notice anything different. This doesn’t surprise me. Red, black, long, short. It’s just hair, who gives a shit?
OK, maybe I’m overthinking this, but that’s what I do.
