Six Degrees of Song

I am SOOOO excited to report that I will be seeing The Veils live in October!!! They're playing a small Chicago venue and opening for this guy, Liam Finn. I don't know anything about him yet, except that I'm really liking his song, "Second Chance." play.play.play. Though I firmly believe The Veils should be headlining material, I'll be happy to stick around and listen to Liam. Check out his live performance on Letterman. And wait for Letterman's classic response to Finn's fervor..."Oh my gosh. How 'bout that. Everyone all right??"

Now please pardon another blabsence (fo real) while I take a stab at the piles of procrastination that have grown so scarily large in my periphery they're stealing my neck and giving me anxiety attacks.

Fairytale of Queens

Weekend before last I hopped an e-saver to NYC to visit my brother. Most of us suspected he'd never leave NC, but most of us were wrong. Not only did he get out of dodge, he projectiled into what some might call center of the universe territory. I don't mean Queens (his burrough), but wander Time Square, and try to tell me the sheer volumes of people don't make you feel like you're smack dab in the middle of it all. Of course I've never been to Tokyo.

But I've always loved New York. Before moving to Chicago I briefly thought it would be my next home. Even this past weekend the long-lingering question of "could I move here?" persisted in the back of my mind. The answer is at once "yes" and "no." Yes because there's endless inspiration in its bustle, buildings, sass, style, fashion, food, people, and transport. Better yet, it's not landlocked! But no because I've grown accustomed to a lifestyle that I could not afford there. My Chicago apartment is small as it is and would likely cost 3 times as much in NYC. But oh how I do love the place. I generally feel pleasantly slackjawed while I'm there, soaking it all in, wringing a little out to make room for more, and repeat.

Although the original plan was to meet Gracie the Amazing there, stay with her roommate-free friend in Manhattan, and meet my brother out at night, fate's folly stepped in and foiled that idea. Not so amazingly this time, Gracie slept through her flight from Atlanta and never made it to the city, so arrangements had to be rearranged on the fly. No place does on the fly as well as NYC, which is exactly what makes it a place of fairytales. As sappily sad as I was to lose Grace's company, whipping up new plans was a breeze. Turned out my brother's roommate was out of town, and I actually scored my own room in Queens with a coveted window A/C (enter hallelujah chorus). So day one consisted of navigating the subway, sweating, wandering the streets of midtown and downtown, sweating, and meeting some new friends for a Cuban dinner. Later that night we grabbed drinks with old friends and caught up until the wee hours of the morning. With that kind of night mostly behind this recovering nightowl, it was Sunday morning coming down, but only in body. My spirits were good, and it was a welcomed lazy day.

When I finally stirred Sunday evening I found myself absolutely famished. With brother still sleeping it off, for the first time ever, I took me, myself and I to a cute little restaurant around the corner from my brother's abode, called Stove. There I happily enjoyed a delectable feast of warm beet salad, sole wrapped crab, and a few bites of bread pudding that I couldn't resist despite my one-week foray into the world of no sugar/no carbs. For Sleeping Beauty back on the ranch I also ordered a Chicken Kiev to go... The food and atmosphere left me rejuvenated and relaxed, and even though I didn't see more NYC sites that day, I felt completely satisfied. Company is splendid, but there's something liberating about spending a day all by yourself in a foreign city.

The next day, United predictably canceled my crack of dawn flight from LaGuardia back to Chicago. I was forced to instead detour through Newark later that day, which gave me the added benefits of seeing more of the city via bus and unintentionally missing a day at the office. Fairytale, indeed.

Manners

sweetness

One Night kickStand

A very sweet fellow who read a past post asked me to leave my Friday evening free, put on a skirt, and be ready at 6 pm sharp for a surprise. After many unsuccessful games of "cold. warm. luke-warm" or "swimming is to 'the surprise' as painting is to a song" (LSAT flashbacks!), I did as I was told and emerged clueless and in skirt at 6:09 p.m.

Where I found... there... on my very own doorstep... flutter-flutter the above sky blue Vespa a.k.a. the-coolest-little-thing-on-two-wheels-I-ever-did-behold awaiting lil ole me for a night on the town!!

I admit to letting a few nerves interfere with my initial display of excitement. I said I wanted a Vespa and that I wanted to ride it in a skirt, yes, but did I know HOW to ride a Vespa? Did I actually expect one to appear on my doorstep for a date? No, I did not. So instead of hopping straight on Her Adorableness, I did what any sensible person would do. I inquired into insurance coverage. Satisfied with the response, I headed to the nearest school parking lot where I would learn how to drive her properly. Who knew I was so responsible?

Part of my hesitation came from hearing that they're quite difficult to maneuver. Mais au contraire mon frere! En effet, c'est très facile! So easy that in no time flat I was ready to take Miss Winsome out into the jungle of Wicker Park. It.was.a.blast. Way more fun than I ever even imagined. No kidding. I'm officially an addict.

Imagine a jetski, remove suit, snowcaps and sporty and add skirt, potholes and cutely cartoonish... et voila! Vespa. As for the whole look, I'd say I was a little less fetching than my wish-granter might've imagined and a little more ridiculous (I've got the photos to prove it). Who knew I had such admirable posture? Ah but the foolishness just adds to the charm.

It’s true, I am now quite certain that I want one for my ownsome. Alas, with a tear and a smile, we dropped her off at the rental shop this afternoon, and I'm not ashamed to say that I already miss the feel of her under my rump. She'll always be the one who got away. I swear I would somehow own one within a week if only the weather here were more accommodating and I were rolling in dough. though they're not all that expensive. In lieu of awaiting beaucoodles of benjamins, I've started to consider selling off my car. Or my eggs. Clearly I need to let the jonesing fade a bit before I do anything rash...

Earworm du Jour

This is "The Tide that Left and Never Came Back," by The Veils. Probably my favorite musical find in the last year or so, Finn Andrews, the virtual one-man-band behind the "veil" seems to be a bit of a musical genius. This song is off their first album, The Runaway Found ('04), which I had to buy from Japan. Ridiculous, but you do get two extra songs that way. Other songs to check out from that album:

The Wild Son, Guiding Light, Lavinia, and The Leavers Dance. Ok, just check out the whole album. Please.

Then there's their second album, Nux Vomica ('06), with more gems like: Calliope, Advice for Young Mothers to Be, and Under the Folding Branches, just to name a few...

In my layman's opinion, this band is seriously underrated.

In Cars

Women racing southwest at 41 mph along 26th Street near the Riviera Country Club, Pacific Palisades, California, at 1:14 p.m. on a Tuesday in February 1997.

More than most girls I know ('cept maybe my sis), I love to get behind the wheel and drive. Starting at age 16 with the unpopulated back roads of North Carolina at my disposal (oh how I miss them), I’d pass right by my neighborhood and drive aimlessly to the tune of one of my beloved mix tapes until I figured someone back home might be getting worried.

Much to the chagrin of all my passengers and/or chauffeurs over the years, my passion for driving has also admittedly translated into afflictions known as “guns blazing f-bomb road rage” and “back seat driving of the worst kind.” My sincerest apologies to all (though I’ve no intention of stopping). It’s horrible, irritating, and sometimes downright embarrassing, but I just cannot help myself. Unless, of course, the driver is my dad, in which case fear of death halts all commentary. Fruit doesn't fall far from the tree.

Along with driving, I’m fascinated by watching other drivers as I or they zoom by (usually the former). Am I the only one who imagines how silly we would all look if we could be seen zipping down the road, in seated driving position, but without the actual car surrounding us? Probably so. You know, it's sorta similar to the whole imagining people naked thing to overcome social anxiety… except without any purpose... whatsoever. See what I mean? No? Ok, it’s just weird.

Anyhow, I LOVE this series of photographs by Andrew Bush that I found on Flak. They are so fucking cool they look staged. And the little detail found in each description is darn clever. We actually get their approximate mph! Below is a summary of the entire series, which you can see here:

The culture of cars is an inseparable part of American life. Whether used for functional purposes or recreation, automobiles are expressions of our personality. They also represent the American ideals of freedom, mobility, and independence, providing a unique personal space that is at once private and public. Andrew Bush examines the tension between private and public in his remarkable series of photographs of individuals driving cars in Los Angeles and other parts of the Southwestern United States. By attaching a camera to the passenger side window, Bush made these pictures while driving alongside his subjects — often at speeds exceeding 60 mph. Taking notes on the speed and direction he was going, Bush created extended captions for the images and called the series Vector Portraits. Published this spring by Yale University Press, a portfolio of sixty-six of these images is accompanied by a discussion of the series in the context of Bush’s photography as a whole.

Shins, Toofs & Ears

"Your Nightmares Only Need a Year or Two to Unfold." A surprising lyric for such an instrumentally peppy tune.

I don't know anyone who enjoys going to the dentist (swear there's a connection here), but I really hate going to the dentist. First there are the discouraging memories of gagging on my own saliva as my mouth served as a human mortar, noisy torture devices interchangeably sucking then swirling in gritty pastes the flavor of rotten strawberries. Then I went and added insult to injury by visiting "Sadist Dentist of Chicago Extraordinaire" four years back, which put a final nail in my dentistry coffin.

Ever since, thoughts of dental work have given me the heebie jeebies. I avoided it like the plague until my chops told me there was trouble in avoidance paradise. As suspected, my love affair with sweets came home to roost, and today was the day I went back to pay the piper.

That might explain why, en route to the dentist this morning, I played this song about five times in a row. Despite the occasional foreboding lines therein, it gives me happy happy thoughts and makes me want to dance a little jig.

Contrary to pessimistic expectation, I'm so very pleased to report that my anxiety far outweighed the misery of the actual experience. In fact, I received virtually pain free work c/o "The Gentle Dentist of Chicago Extraordinaire." My faith in dentistry restored, I am again the proud owner of decay-free toofs. Hallelujah!

Vintage Veneration

So I'll start with some visuals...

These phones almost make me want to get a landline again. But only if they're the faux rotary variety. The fastest texter this side the Mississippi's got no time for the circle dial. I never was known for my patience. As a kid I'd try to speed up the calling process by forcing the dial back in reverse to the point of nearly breaking the thing, gritting my teeth all the while. If they hadn't invented touchtone, I just might've been the first (impatient) patient to treat for a nasty case of rotary carpal tunnel. Somebody needs to simmer down.

Neglect

This sort of explains my recent blog absence, or blabsence.

Wingspan

I Want a Vespa.

And I want to wear a skirt while I scoot around town on it. Is that so much to ask?

Whether to Weather or Not