Folkin' Around In Newport (And Other Weekend Adventures)

This weekend was incredible.  First and foremost, I didn't have to work for five solid days.  After months of working forty hours a week without any vacation time, I was more than ready to get away.  And let me tell you, getting away really put some things into perspective regarding that job.  But we'll get back to that later.

My original plan for this past weekend was to leave on Saturday for Boston, stay there for a night, head to Newport in the morning for the festival, and leave Newport for Rochester on Monday.  A couple days before I was supposed to leave, my friend Caroline (who, obviously, came along on the trip) invited me up to her cottage on Little Long Lake in the Adirondacks.  Figuring that a little time in the woods would probably do wonders for my sanity, I agreed to come up on Friday night--making my trip start a day early.

Part I, Adirondacks: I arrive at the cottage to find Caroline's entire family there.  This doesn't bother me, as the first thing I'm handed on the way into her cottage is a beer.  We went for a booze cruise, and I watched all of them jump off a (much to high for me to even consider jumping off of) rock--apparently one of their cottage gathering family traditions.  The night went by a little too fast, mostly because when I was done with one drink, another one came pretty much out of nowhere.  The Millers know how to have a good time.  The absolute best part of the night came when we played a game called Cards Against Humanity.  It's basically the same game as Apples to Apples, but with really, really offensive answers on the cards.  My absolute favorite play was when the dealer had, "What is the most emo?" and someone put in "flightless birds".  The "two midgets shitting in buckets" card came as a close second for favorite moments.  I highly suggest that we all get super drunk and play this game when we get together next.  Immediately following this game was a Fifty Shades level poetry reading, all done in a Rochester accent.  It's kind of impossible to explain, but it was the perfect ending for the night.  Not so perfect ending for the night?  Waking up at 5 AM and realizing that I didn't eat anything and consumed an obscene amount of alcohol.  Puking was imminent.  However, I retained my gold medal in the "very small people who drink way too much but never puke" category.  High fiving a million angels!


Part II, Boston: We left the cottage in the morning, and stopped in Saratoga for lunch.  The drive from Saratoga onwards (about four hours) was a bit horrific.  We were essentially chasing a rain storm.  So every time the rain got better, and we thought we were in the clear, it suddenly got worse again.


Anyway, we got to Boston at around 5.  It was still raining pretty hard.  We stayed with my cousin and her boyfriend in Brighton.  We did some illegal things then went out for a beer and then watched "Wildboyz".  I wish that we could have stayed longer, and seen a bit more of Boston--but the rain got in the way.  Which obviously means that I have to go visit again soon.


Brief side-ish note: my cousin is one of my absolute favorite people to see.  She's the kind of person who reminds me of exactly who I am--and she makes me feel centered and calm.  This does not happen for me with most people--I tend to be an incredibly nervous person--so to be relieved of that feeling, even for a little while, is always wonderful.



Part III, Newport: We left Boston in the morning for Newport.  The drive was easy.  The parking was easy.  The water taxi we took over was easy.  Everything was easy.  It was a nice change from the day before.  The sky looked a bit ominous, but there wasn't any rain--yet.


We arrived at the site, and we were both surprised at how small it was.  The site consisted of three stages--which weren't far apart at all.  Someone must have put a hell of a lot of work into figuring out those acoustics.


The first show we saw was Deep Dark Woods.  They were more electric/rock than folk. The lead singer broke a guitar string.  He awkwardly tried to fix it on stage.  Somebody found him a new guitar.  All was saved.  Then I had to pee, so I missed the rest of the set.  Typical.


We found Caroline's friend, who had a tarp set down in front of the main stage.  We stayed there to see Trampled By Turtles.  Not only do they have an awesome name, but they also rock out pretty hard.   The fiddle player (Or, fiddlest?  I want to give him a cool nickname, too) was insanely good.  He also resembled Zach Galifianakis.  So I guess what I'm saying is that Zach Galifianakis is moonlighting as a fiddlest in a semi-popular bluegrass band.


Next, we grabbed some lunch and a few beers.  Beer could only be consumed on the beer pier.  This was stupid to me.  I wanted to drink and watch music simultaneously.  Isn't that what music festivals are all about?


After that, we stood in front of the main stage, in a gigantic crowd, to see The Head and The Heart.  Before I saw them on Sunday, I didn't especially like them (I know, shame on me), but they put on an excellent, energetic show.  By the end of the set, I was a little bit enamored with them.  If you guys ever get the chance to see them live, DO IT.  They have some great fans and they really keep their crowd entertained.


We grabbed a few more beers in between H&H and our last, most anticipated, act--The Tallest Man On Earth.  We did a drive-by of Conor Oberst and Of Monsters and Men.  We stood and listened to TuNe-YaRdS for a while--who were fucking insane.  If there is anybody that really surprised me at the festival, it was them.  They really put on an intriguing and impressive show. They are officially on my list of bands to see live someday.  The crowd was really loving them too, even though they aren't folk at ALL.


After that was our beloved Tallest Man.  Ironically, I was too short to see anything.  I joked with some fellow festival-goers about bolting up the "fire lane" when he started, to get a better spot.  Instead, some really nice guy offered me his place, and I could see him a little better.  I spent most of the show moving around, trying to find a spot where I could at least see him a little bit.  I was pretty angry that I didn't have a view, because he was really the draw for me, as far as the festival acts went.  But I realized that I tend to ruin a lot of potentially wonderful moments in my life by being angry about stuff, and I stopped trying to move and just listened to him play.  He was absolutely perfect live--everything I could have hoped for.  In the middle of his set, it started to rain.  I didn't bring a raincoat or umbrella.  Some people peaced out, but most stayed.  It was a beautiful image--this huge crowd of people who were willing to stand in the rain to hear this man's music.  During the last couple of songs, I found a spot on a hillside, where I could see him perfectly.  I just looked over the crowd and soaked (pun intended) it all in.  It was definitely a moment I will never forget, and it perfectly defines why music is important to me.  The whole festival, did, actually.  Just to see that many  people full of joy and love--brought together by music.  That is such a powerful thing.


So, I realized that I have to quit my job at Starbucks.  I'm giving myself until the end of August.  I want to make a living working with musicians.  Whether it's performing with them, or writing about them, or something completely different--I don't know.  But it's too important to me to be working a shitty forty-hour a week job doing something completely unrelated.  It's not good for my soul, and I would rather fail at music than succeed at Starbucks any day.


This was long, and sort of angsty--and for that, I apologize.  But that is what I did with my weekend.  And it was the best weekend I've had in a long while.

Stick It!!

Videos like this are why I watch the Olympics.
Aly Raisman's parents at the Olympics

Morning's People

The walk from my room to the coffee maker is my time. I’m a zombie on a mission, and no one is going to stop me! Saying, “Oh, who’s up? Em is that you? Em? Hey, Em! Emily?” will not get my attention. I’m not going to talk to you, I’m not going to acknowledge you, I’m not going to do anything accept glare at anyone blocking my path. Every morning, I’m the second person up, and every morning there is this same one-sided conversation. This pattern will keep repeating till I move out as I never tell my dad to stop talking to me, I simply ignore him. And, since my dad spends the majority of his day talking to himself, a response isn’t always necessary. Give me that one cup of coffee, and I’m golden, perfectly functional in the am.

“What’s thirteen divided by three?”
“Seven,” I say without thinking.
“No, I don’t think that’s…” 
I cut her off, “Sorry, I’m really not a morning person.”
“Oh, it’s ok.”

“And then, I went to the grocery store and was in a cash only line by accident, but they wouldn’t take my credit card! And then, I got home and was putting groceries away only to realize that I had left the bag with the eggs there, which was the reason I went in the first place! So, now I have to drive all the way back to buy the stupid eggs to make this stupid cake that I’ll probably burn anyway and…Are you even listening?”
“What? Yeah, no, kind of. Sorry, I’m really not a morning person.”
She sighs and says, “Well, you still probably would’ve remembered the eggs.”

“Can I have a coffee please?”
“What size?”
“Oh umm grande I guess.”
“And would you like any room for milk and sugar?”
“Yes. Oh and can I get a little hazelnut in it?”
“Sure.”
“Oh, so now I don’t need the room anymore, because that is sugar right?”
“Yes.”
“And can I get it iced instead?”
“Mhm.”
“Actually, can I just get a tall vanilla latte and a croissant?”
She throws the cup away and shoots me an, “are you kidding me with this?” look.
“Okay, that’s four eighty seven please.”
“Sorry about that. It’s just, I’m really not a morning person.”
“Don’t worry, no one here is.”
Smiles exchanged and no one hates me but the guy behind me.

100% socially acceptable. Any other time of day, you’re on your own! I’ll only give it away to you all that I am a morning person. You know you are if you wake up early for no purpose other than to start your day sooner. You should jump on this and start pretending if you are as well. And if you aren’t a morning person, well own up and milk it for all it’s worth. You have to get a little creative in the evenings, but morning is a precious time not to be wasted!! Grab some coffee so you can go say and do your stupid things faster, hopefully getting them out of your way before starting the day seriously at 10.

Bonnaroo Part Duex: It's Friday, Friday

What, what (in the butt)

Friday was another first for me at Bonnaroo - I stayed at one stage for almost the entire day, the main "What" stage. I got some great spots this way, including front row pit for one show and front row general admission for two others. This is where all of the headliners play as well as "bigger" names through out the day. There were some very difficult decisions to stay here - my choices nixed out any plans on seeing supergroups  The Word (Robert Randolph, John Medeski, and N. Mississippi Allstars)  and Spectrum Road (Cindy Black Santana, Vernon Ried, John Medeski), as well as Major Laser, my current female singer idol St. Vincent, 90's jam band Umphrey's McGee, Ludacris, and Foster the People.

Here were our schedules:

Brad:
Steve Bernstien's MTO plays Sly and the Family Stone -> tUnE-yArDs -> Sharon Jones -> back to camp -> Punch Bros. -> Dawes -> Radiohead -> The Word / Black Star split -> split LN

Deryl
The Kooks -> tUnE-yArDs -> Sharon Jones -> Two Door Cinema Club -> Fitz and the Tantrums -> Chappo -> Radiohead -> Black Star -> Flying Lotus (for 15 min.)

Matt:
Michael Kiwanuka -> tUnE-yArDs -> Sharon Jones -> Avett Brothers -> Rodrigo y Gabriela -> The Deep Dark Woods -> Radiohead -> Black Star -> Ivan Neville's Dumpstaphunk -> Flying Lotus

 But on to  who I did see.

 I started the day off with some soul, as I'm want to do. I chose to nix the opportunity to see keyboard legend Bernie Worell play some Sly and the Family Stone tunes with Steve Bernstein's MTO in favor of catching British soul singer Michael Kiwanuka. Between this decisions and missing Spectrum Road and The Word later that night, I'm surprised nobody came and took my musician license away from me. If you don't know anything about Michael Kiwanuka, he was handpicked by Adele to be her opening act. He's a very pleasant sound, and to my ear sounds a lot like Ben Sollee (think "How to See the Sunrise") with a dash more Otis Redding in the vocals. His set was very good, and his guitar playing was more than I had expected. His set included a tribute to Jimi Hendrix, and his rhythm guitarist looked like Lebron James with a huge LMFAO afro. I had a front row spot for this one, and actually had enough juice in my phone to grab a picture too:

After Kiwanuka, I met back up with Deryl and Brad (Brad had gone to Sly and walked around, Deryl went to the Kooks) for some tUnE-yArDs. We stayed at their set for about 20 minutes - they weren't bad or anything at all, but it was CRAZY crowded at their tent. It looked like a scene from Peter Pan except the lost boys were all teenage - mid 30's women in bikinis with neon paint and Indian head dresses. This was the first evidence of some Bonnaboobies (women who get their breasts painted and walk around topless) as well. We found out through word of mouth that Roo had not re-signed the booth who did it last year (ended up not being true) and that there were campers doing it for cheap in tent city and general admission (ended up being true - there's vids on youtube).

We grabbed some food truck grub from Eat My Box (still the best food truck) and headed off to the What stage for some Sharon Jones.

Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings were INCREDIBLE. They have a free show in NYC in August that I'm planning on going to and think you all should too. Jones is about 65 years old, but she has more stage presence and energy that almost any 20 somethings I've seen. They played a full hour and a half set, not stopping once. Each member of the Kings had a solo as well, and being vetereans of the original Motown scene, they were of course fantastic. If you don't own a copy of their live album, stop reading this and listen to it on Spotify at the very least.

This began my stay at the What stage. Deryl and Brad went off on their own (stopping back at camp, seeing some other bands). I ended up camped on the fence of general admission with a group of about 8 kids from NY who were in an orchestra together.


The New Instrument (electric kool-aid) Aptitude Test

There was about an hour to kill between each of the What stage shows, most of which I spent hanging out and trading snacks and Roo stories with the aforementioned NY orchestra guys (at Roo, the bartering economy is pretty friendly - a cliff bar  = a cliff bar, a cliff bar with a well time dick joke = a cliff bar and something harsher, etc.) The boys were big Avett fans, but, like many of the other people beginning to crowd the stage, were camping out for Radiohead hours in advance. While waiting for the Avetts to take the stage, several of their group began taking squares, and I was informed that certain orchestra players have very specific reactions to acid. Apparently, cellists and bassists have the best experience, as they typically 'see the whole page" and "get bored and are generally spacy and on acid anyways", while violinists and violists are too "self aware" or "analytical" to let the experience take over.

Watching the Avetts with them was a ball. It was one of the most fun sing along I have ever been apart of, because we could all harmonize to each other and the band. As far as the performance, I was impressed. The band puts everything out on the stage (especially the cellist with the awesomely stereotypical fu manchu mustache). I heard from others that this was a flat performance from the boys, but I thought it was great. It really helped me forget how flat the Decemberists were last year.

My bladder and feet decided I was not going to camp out at my primo spot for Radiohead, as their shows are enjoyable from pretty much anywhere. So I said bye to the NY croo, headed to the porto pottys and successfully avoided any Poopay Fiascos, and decided to go into the pit for Rodrigo y Gabriela. I ended up getting front row corner spot. I could touch them.

Rod y Gab played with C.U.B.A. orchestra, which is really a drummer, a percussionist,  an insane keyboardist, horns, and bass. The bassist was just as fantastic as Rodrigo and Gabriela. He did a solo where he scatted and improv melody over some pretty insane bass licks. It was incredible.

The skill and grace of the guitar work is absolutely awe inspiring here. Rodrigo gets a lot of the attention because of his machismo and ferocious picking, but Gabriela has so much flexibility in tone and character. Their set included solo work form both. Rodrigo's included snippets of Metalica, and Gabriela's of Stevie Wonder.

Radiohead, Fried Food, and Flea

After a failed attempt to try and meet Deryl and Brad in the crowd of 40,000+ loading up for Radiohead, I grabbed some fried delicacies (loaded potato chips and fried shrooms), grabbed a seat, and rested my feet. I ended up taking a walk to one of the small sponsor tents and watching some band I had never heard of (The Deep Dark Woods). I didn't really like their sound, but it was something to do and they had a pretty crowd.

Radiohead's show was beautiful. The lights and staging they use really emote the music in a very affective manner (although the star lit sky, bonnaboobies and chance to lay down in the grass and soak everything in helped).

While listening, I happened to sit up to let some people by and saw some baldish guy doing crazy yoga like dance moves in the crowd. I got up to investigate - and he ended up being Flea from RHCP. I got a chance to say hello to him (turns out he was doing something yoga like, some kind of eastern dance). Flea is awesome - but he is possibly the weirdest looking man I have ever met. His face proportions are all out of whack, but it's not as disconcerning as it should be.

Black Star Reminds Me - I was way too cool in middle school

For those of you who aren't into hip hop in a big way, let me preface with this: I LOVED the socially conscious rap groups of the late 80's and early 90's, notably A Tribe Called Quest, Arrested Development (but not my cousin, I mean who likes their own cousin, that's not legal. Is it?), and Black Star, aka Talib Kweli and Mos Def.

So their first performance in a decade or so was a pretty big deal for Deryl and I. I ended up with pretty good view as I left Radiohead before their encore (which unfortunately included "Paranoid Android", but alas). Both rappers were on point, although Mos Def was a little bit hazy compared to Talib (which is usually the opposite). They performed all of Black Star's only album as well as a track or two form each of their side projects (Mos Def's Estatic album and Talib's numerous collaborations). No ATCQ covers though. Still an excellent once in a lifetime show.

Latenight Funk
  
After energizing at Black Star, I ended up spending the remainder of my night dancing my ass off with some other honkies with Ivan Neville's dumpstaphunk. Last year, I ended up in a dance off with these kids from Vermont at the String Cheese Incident show, and it really put me in the right place to enjoy the festival. dumpstaphunk did that again after a fun but weird Thursday. After their set, I walked around to Flying Lotus (who played a 5-6 hour set), listened to him mix some Wocka Flocka Flame, and thend headed back to camp wonderfully exhausted.

Coming Soon....
Roo Saturday Edition: Gary Clark Jr., Das Racist gets Weird, Gambino vs. the Which, dogs that can salsa, girls on mushrooms, Da Roots, RHCP, and special guests galore (D'ANGELO!!)

10 Works of Art That Have Changed My Life

You guys have probably seen my Facebook status, asking people which works of art have affected them the most.

I thought I'd share my top ten with you guys, and I would love it if you'd share yours with me.  Also, it's really effing hard to pick ten.

Here they are, in no particular order (with quotes, hurrah!):

1.) Joni Mitchell's "Blue". 
I wanna have fun,
I wanna shine like the sun.
Wanna be the one that you wanna see.
I wanna knit you a sweater,
I wanna write you a love letter,
wanna make you feel better,
wanna make you feel free.

2.) 30 Rock.
I just want to go home and  watch that show about midgets and eat a block of cheddar cheese.

3.) "Sunday in the Park With George" by Sondheim.
Anything you do,
let it come from you;
then, it will be new.
Give us more to see.

4.) "Franny and Zooey"/ "The Catcher In The Rye"  by J.D. Salinger. 
You’d better get busy, though, buddy. The goddam sands run out on you every time you turn around. You’re lucky if you get time to sneeze in this goddam phenomenal world.

Among other things, you’ll find that you’re not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. You’re by no means alone on that score, you’ll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You’ll learn from them—if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. it’s a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn’t education. It’s history. It’s poetry. 

5.) "The Tempest" by Shakespeare.
We are such stuff as dreams are made on;
and our little life is rounded with a sleep.


6.) "Extremely Loud And Incredibly Close" by Jonathan Safran Foer. 
It was late, and we were tired.
We assumed there would be other nights.
Anna’s breathing started to slow, but I still wanted to talk.
She rolled onto her side.
I said, I want to tell you something.
She said, You can tell me tomorrow.
I had never told her how much I loved her.
She was my sister.
We slept in the same bed.
There was never a right time to say it.
It was always unnecessary.
The books in my father’s shed were sighing.
The sheets were rising and falling around me with Anna’s breathing.
I thought about waking her.
But it was unnecessary.
There would be other nights.
And how can you said I love you to someone you love?
I rolled on my side and fell asleep next to her.
Here is the point of everything I have been trying to tell you, Oskar.
It’s always necessary.  

7.) Helplessness Blues, Fleet Foxes.
I was raised up believing
I was somehow unique,
like a snowflake,
distinct among snowflakes,
unique in each way you could see.
And, now, after some thinking
I'd say I'd rather be
a functioning cog, in some great machinery,
serving something beyond me.
But I don't, I don't know what 
that will be.
I'll get back to you someday soon,
you will see. 

8.) Harold and Maude, directed by Hal Ashby.
Vice. Virtue. It's best not to be too moral. You cheat yourself out of too much life. Aim above morality. If you apply that to life, then you're bound to live life fully.

9.) "Ghost Of Corporate Future", Regina Spektor.
People are just people;
they shouldn't make you nervous.
The world is everlasting;
it's coming and it's going.

10.) Mad Men.
If you don't like what's being said, change the conversation.

"I'm Single".

You all may have read this story on Facebook already, but this is not one to be missed.  It defines my life at this point perfectly.


It was an ordinary Saturday.  In other words, I was working in a place that moderately to severely resembled Hell.  Weekends are the absolute worst time to be a barista.  People are rude, indecisive, and just overall idiotic.  I'm sure it's that way with many other jobs, too, but I enjoy being the barista martyr that I am.

Anyway, this guy walks by the espresso machine of his way to pick up the drink he ordered, and he caught me eye.  I smiled him, because that's what I am paid to do.  I am paid to be polite to everyone; it's isn't personal, pal.

So, I hand off that same guy's drink to him.  He's this insanely nerdy dude, who looked a bit like the guy who has flashbacks and nosebleeds, but is not Desmond, on "Lost".  I was also informed after the incident that he was carrying a very large, black umbrella on a ninety-degree day, with absolutely no chance of rain.

This dude, in case you can't picture him:





"Tall mocha cookie crumble", I announced, and then turned to walk away.  All of a sudden, I hear this dude say something.

"...What?", I inquired.

He looks at me creepily and says, "Do you want to hear a secret?"

Now, a few things went through my mind at this point: a.) is this person disabled?,  b.) do I want to hear his secret?,  c.) I probably shouldn't move in closer, and d.) this should be interesting.  Despite the strong urge to run in the opposite direction, I answered, "Uh...okay?".

The nerdy dude leaned in (much to my dismay) and whispered, "I'm single."

If you know me well (and I know you all do), you know what my face looked like.  It was that classic "are you fucking kidding me?!" look.  And then I said to him, in the most sarcastic tone possible, "That's great."

I started walking away, and he yelled after me, "Are you?"

And, despite my obvious singleness, I said, "No."

This is the kind of thing that would only happen to me.  And it's the reason why I think I am destined to write a screenplay someday.

However, from this point forward, I will always consent to hearing somebody's secret.  It's too entertaining to pass up.

Bonaroo 2012, Part 1: I meet Doug Benson, slow dance with a fat guy, watch that guy from Mad Men shoot a baby with Garfunkle and Oates, and more

I know you've been waiting for it.

And now it's here.

Bonaroo 2012: A Report For Those to Lame to Go

Part 1a: The Roo Croo, Travels, Camp, and Neighbors 

I'll keep this section short, cause well, it's boring.

The Roo Croo this year fluctuated as it always does - at one point, we had about 8 in out Croo, but we eventually left with 3 - myself, my brother in law Deryl (back for his second tour despite having a 4 month old baby girl), and Deryl's former roomate, Phish head and music middle man Brad.

We left earlier this year, and had to detour to Greenwich to pick up Brad at his girlfriend's family's house.. er I mean estate. Seriously, this was the biggest house I have ever seen, and I stayed in mansions on tours. They had their own lake. As it, they owned a lake. The gated community had a Carlton-esque black man who would stop cars to ensure safety and that, I'm assuming, we didn't touch anything and get poor all over it. Deryl and I fantasized that our "buddy" (his words) was secretly an Omar-esque character with a real good hustle in which he had to superficially surrender his "blackness"as  Carlton from Fresh Prince figure. The ultimate culture-racial doorman rejected by his peers, superiors, and inferiors for simply doing a job.

Then we nearly hit a picket fence with the car. Apparently, rich people put white picket fence sections in the middle of the road to control car speeds rather than speed bumps like normal people.

The ride down was decent. It became clear that schedules were going to be interesting this time with 3 people - especially two involved in music as a career. Brad had seen lots of artist already because of his job at Red Light - his definites were Phish, Radiohead, RHCP, tUnE-yArDs, and Gary Clark Jr., and everything else was whatever happened happened #Lost. We fantasized about collaborations, who was in the Superjam, etc.

We got a PRIMO spot this year tent wise - we were as far up to the entrance as you can be in general camping. Like, a 3 minute walk to the stages. Wonderful. We also got camp set up quickly with 3 people.

Our neighbors were pretty cool - college kids from Texas U, all first timers save one. To our left, 1st timers who provided plenty of entertainment through their audible late night drug experimentations (more on that later on). Diagonally, a dealer couple from Chicago in their early twenties.

Poorly Laid Plans of Mice and Men

I obsess over my Roo schedule daily from the moment it's released. At Roo, I go into the performance areas at 11:30 or noon, and I stay there until 4-5 a.m. I do NOT go back to the site - that's blasphemy. 

So Thursday kind of screwed with me.

My original plan - explore the vendors, maybe catch Rollin' in the Hay at the Solar Stage, then do the following:
Dirty Guvnahs -> Cave Singers -> Dale Earnhardt Jr. Jr. -> White Denim -> Kendrick Lamar -> Alabama Shakes -> MiMosa -> Trapped in the Closet Sing A Long


Sticking with the group though, I ended up with this:

Fort Atlantic -> Rollin in the Hay -> Doug Benson Movie Interruption -> Mariachi El Bronx->White Denim -> Moon Taxi -> Kendrick Lamar -> Alabama Shakes -> Mardi Gras Parade -> Bobcat Goldthwait -> Trapped in the Closet Sing A Long

A List of Awesome Things I did Thursday

I met Doug Benson. First off, the guy is awesomely down to earth. However, he has Ron Jeremy like skin issues- as in his face constantly looks like a leather mask smiling. Maybe he just got out a lot this summer. He came out before the Movie Interruption (which featured him, Brian Posehn, Kyle Kinane, and Ali Wong interrupted the Sylvester Stallone written/directed/"acted" 2008 version of Rambo) and basically convinced the Roo workers to disobey the rules and let everybody in that they could, including standing people. It was pretty awesome. And yes, he did wreak of weed.

I decided to go to the R Kelly Trapped in the Closet Sing A Long early so I could make sure I had a seat. Bobcat Goldthwait was showing his movie he made with the guy who played Fred on Mad Men. The movie reminded me of American Beauty, if it had been directed by Quentin Tarantino and written by Kevin Smith. In the very first scene, they shoot a baby with a shotgun, and an "unproportionate amount" of blood and diaper gets sprayed out due to a gaff on the part of the FX guy (we later learned that). I sat right behind Garfunkel and Oates during the screening (mainly Miccucci, because Riki is SO FREAKIN TALL. They were pretty awesome. Later, the next week, they were on Doug Bensons I Love Movies podacast talking about the movie, and Riki said something about how she usually makes out with people during movies. Damn.

The R Kelly Trapped in the Closet Sing Along, put on by his manager, was one of the most fun things I did all weekend. They ran it a la Rocky Horror - everyone had props and everything ( I had a spatula for Rosy the nosy Neighbor's scenes). They ended up doing not only all 30 some odd chapters of Trapped in the Closet, but also all of R Kelly's greatest hit music videos. For "Bump'n'Grin", we were instructed to slow dance like 7th graders with whoever was to our left. I ended up slow dancing with a giant sweaty goateed guy in a Heat jersey. It was magical.

I also learned one of my favorite Bonnaroo slang terms ever (there's a lot) - it's a term to warn others of a potentially dangerous port o potyy situation - its a "Poopay Fiasco!!!"

Alabama Shakes led the Mardi Gras Parade this year along with the Soul Rebels. No Mr. T float this year, but the parade ended with Yelawolf handing out pizza, a surprise DJ set, and the Asian bistro throwing free food from a truck.

I missed Dale Earnhardt Jr. Jr.'s set to charge my cell phone (I was pissed I couldnt take picture - next year I am def. bringing a digital camera). I ended up talking to a girl form Seatlle for 45 minutes before The Lonley Forest went on. She was pretty cool, as were her friends. They gave me food for advice. Mad good kangaroo jerky,

Some Stuff About Music
 
Rollin' in the Hay wins funniest musical moment of Thursday - after a rollicking bluegrass kicking of some Sly and the Family Stone and Elegnor Rigby, they said they had received big news for their next venture - the people who put together those "horribly sad Sarah Mclachlon puppy commercials" called and asked them to write a song for their next set of commercials. They then launched into "Wet Hot Pussy". It was fantastic.

Moon Taxi was phenomenally kick ass. Their keyboard player is fantastic. I didn't realize they were so jammy. The portion of their set I saw really put White Denim to shame.

If Kendrick Lamar used that lasery "WEEEEEEAAAA-- PA SHEW SHEW SHEW!" effect one more time than he did, I'm pretty sure somebody was going to through a crowd surfer at him in the hopes of breaking his equipment. Lamar had one of the best freestyling lines of the fest though - "to the grave from the coochie"

Britney from Alabama Shakes is a powerful, moving voice. She is quite fantastic and should be seen by all of you live.

Mariachi El Bronx is a really fun band, but I'll have more on them tomorrow.

Dale Earnhardt Jr. Jr. are also worth checking out. I only caught a part of their set due to the aforementioned Seattle girl/phone charging trip, but they were rocking.


Tomorrow:A Day with Great Seats,  I Meet Flea, Black Star reunites, I learn what Orchestra players are better at taking acid, and get complimented for my funk (dancing, not smell).

Please don't sniff my hair.

Why do men think it's okay to sniff a complete stranger's hair and tell her it smells nice? I had my court date for my accident today and while I stood in line waiting to pay my fines, a man behind me (old enough to be my father) told me that I looked nice in my blue dress. That was a lovely compliment. Thank you, complete stranger, for the confidence boost! He then, took his hat off to smell his own hair and told me that it was dirty and smelled like sweat. So I said "Oh, we'll it's pretty hot outside today." I turn around and he proceeds to sniff my hair and tell me that it smells nice and clean, but his is smelly and dirty. I was reminded of a creepier Glendon Emmons with poor personal hygiene, and I immediately wanted to take another shower. I do shower and practice good hygiene, but it's really not an invitation to sniff my hair. It's not endearing, it's creepy. Please don't do it. Thank you! : )

A Quick Fashion Alert from the Straight Male Island of Napkin Lit

Ladies, this recent descent into fashion tragedy is shocking and incredulous. Belly-button height shorts and pants, especially when combined with loose, tucked-in tops, is not an attractive, unique, or ironic look. Please, please don't go from a golden age of yoga pants, layered geek chic, and sporty brights to this full spiraling downfall. You look like my friend's moms from the early 90's, and it is disturbing/confusing to all straight men save Oedipus.

That is all.

10 Things I've Learned In the Past Six(ish) Months (Or, Leah's Adventures in Living At Home)

As all of you know, I moved back in with my parents in October, after a failed attempt at New York City (or, you know, Hoboken).  It's the strangest thing in the world to go from having complete freedom to having little, to none at all.  It's had its negatives and positives, as all things do.  But one thing that has been a positive is that I've had all the time in the world to reflect, and to be completely lost and confused about life.

Here are some things that I've learned over these past six(ish) months:

1.) A book is never a regrettable purchase.  Each week at Starbucks, I'm handed about seventy dollars in tip money.  Most weeks, I immediately retreat to Barnes and Noble's to get the next book on my list of things to read.  Over the past six(ish) months, I've read about a book a week/every two weeks.  I read on my breaks.  I read on my days off.  I read whenever I can.  I've always been a reader, but now that I have more alone time, I've become a devout reader.  I moved away from most of my friends when I came back to Rochester, and so I made friends with Kurt Vonnegut and J.D. Salinger and F. Scott Fitzgerald instead--and sometimes, I think they've enriched my life just as much as my real friends have.

2.) Reading more will make you a better writer.  Never in my life had I actually finished a short story, until a few months ago.  Before that, I had written most poems and songs--and had a lot of unfinished beginnings on stories, but never a full one.  Reading great books is a fantastic education in the art of writing.  It has helped me to know what I want out of my own writing, as well as what I want out of other authors.  I truly believe that the only way to learn about something is to fully immerse yourself in it.

3.) Life is not black-and-white.  And people are not, exclusively, good or bad.  The entire universe is just one big grey area.  And it's up to all of us to make some sense of it, if we can.

4.) The "blue streak of recognition" is real.  In "Angels In America", Tony Kushner wrote a scene between two characters where they identified a "blue streak of recognition" upon meeting one another.  That is to say--you meet someone, and you immediately identify with them, without ever knowing why, or how, or from where.  Throughout my life, I've always suspected that it's real--but working at a job where I am forced to talk to several people I don't know every day has only made this phenomenon more apparent to me.  I can't explain where it comes from, but it definitely happens.

5.) Long drives through the countryside will, ultimately, solve all your problems.  Even if it's for just an hour--even if the problem rears its ugly head immediately after you step outside of your car--for that hour when you're driving, everything feels perfect.

6.) Sometimes, the best places are the places where you've never been.  Yesterday, I drove to a town an hour outside of my hometown.  I got out of my car and walked around and explored.  I went into the Town Hall and sketched out a woman who worked in the offices.  The entire town smelled like old houses, sort of like Princeton.  I sat on a bench by a waterfall for awhile.  And I knew absolutely no one, and I had no idea where I was going or what I was going to encounter; and I felt alive and happy for it.

7.) Do not heed to expectations.  Every single day, my parents have a new suggestion for what I should do with my future.  I've learned that, although they think they are being helpful, they are not.  The only way to figure things like that out is to figure them out yourself.  I am the only person who can know what I want out of life.  And if I want something that my parents don't understand--well, that's their problem, not mine.

8.) Pleasantries are for poserz.  My favorite customer at Starbucks is named Walter.  He's a sarcastic, bitter middle-aged dude.  He makes me feel silly when I tell him to "have a nice night".  I love people who have no need for pleasantries; they feel much more genuine.

9.) Some fights are just not worth fighting.  That woman who yelled at you for making her drink wrong?  Make it again, smile at her, and tell her you're sorry.  It's not worth it to give her attitude.  First of all, you'll look like an asshole, and second of all, she probably won't give two shits.  Save your energy for the big fights; don't waste it on the little ones.

10.) Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.  Shakespeare truly said it best.  Be kind, but don't be stupid.  Embrace who you can, when you can--but always have your wits about you.  There is a thin line between being an open, loving person and being the type of person that everyone takes advantage of.  It's up to us to find where that line is, and it does take quite a bit of experimenting.

I hope this is not terribly boring.  I miss you all too much!

Short List (for short people, who, as concluded by Randy Newman, have no reason to live)

Short list of artists and authors I have recently enjoyed thoroughly:

Kurt Vonnegut
St. Vincent
The Avett Brothers
Chris Moore
R. Kelly
Dale Earnhardt Jr. Jr.
Civil Wars
William Faulkner
Robert Glasper Experiment
Joe Jackson (particularly The Duke)
Sharon Jones
Charles Bradley
Gary Clark Jr.
Ken Robinson
Free mixtapes (Childish Gambino, Nas/The Roots, Danny Brown, Oddisee)


Short list of artists who I am undecided about (and why)

Das Racist - Love the meta-humor and perception, love the rambling stream of conscious rap - hate  the live performances and overplayed characterization

Counting Crows - one of my faves from my 90's adolescence - but they're latest album sucks serious scrote. Come on Adam, stop by so poppy and get back to what made you every 90's beta male's pathetically poetic weird Jewish cousin with dreadlocks who somehow couldn't be happy banging Courtney Cox.

Fort Atlantic - Don't get the buzz. Total meh. And their Nirvana cover was easily the least great cover at Roo.

Rollin' in the Hay - loved them live - why can't I find any of your damn albums!



I'm going to do my Roo write up by day in different post, starting tomorrow. Yay unemployment!

Outliers

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how we prioritize people. We have this ability to pick and choose where to put people in our lives based on what purpose we think they’ll fulfill. There are all these titles we create to reassure ourselves that our actions are appropriate, take the friend category--“casual friends,” “work friends,” “good going out friends,” “obligatory friends (often in-laws) we pretend to like,” “obligatory friends we actually like,” “close friends,” “family friends,” “friends of friends,” etc. This can be a fun but tricky process, especially as our relationships are constantly changing. Although some people are pretty set in terms of how we feel about them, there are those that move from one “box” to another or encompass several at once. What’s almost inconceivable to me though is when there is no right box. I dread that unsettling experience of realizing that a person must be moved and knowing I don’t have the proper spot yet. These people make me rethink my mental process, wonder how I couldn’t predict where they’d end up correctly. These are my outliers.

Maybe it’s me acting above it all, but I’ve always thought that people act predictably (myself included), and therefore think that prioritizing isn’t all too difficult. You do however have to know yourself fairly well to guess how any given relationship will function. Maybe that’s why some people have a hard time with it, because they can’t predict their own behavior let alone someone else’s…Or maybe everyone in the world isn’t like me, and they don’t perceive pigeonholing people as a sport. Maybe people see one thing they like about someone and just decide that’s enough to go for some kind of relationship? I don’t write many checklists, but I have mental ones going constantly when I meet someone new. What music does he like? Is he way too into sports? Is he not into sports enough? Does he always dress like that? What’s that tattoo about? Does he read? If so, what? I don’t attack people with questions, but I’m blunt and curious and cautious all at once. I remember quirks and mannerisms over stories that prove to impress. There’s a baseline; just be genuine. I think we all have that one trait we’re waiting to spot until we give the green light.

Once you let someone in though, you have to be prepared for what might follow. I’m never ready for an outlier. I think it mostly has to do with feeling like the roles are reversed, and my vulnerability begins to show. As much as I’d like to claim that I’m this spontaneous force to be reckoned with, I’m actually much more of a control freak. I hate having a tight schedule, but I do crave structure and balance in other aspects of my life. When it comes to relationships, I’ve always wanted to be the dominant person, to know that I can control where it goes and how it gets there. However, they make me realize that I’m incapable of such control. This relationship doesn’t follow my rules. You can’t read them, you overanalyze them, you scratch your head and wonder how many others are doing the same.

I’ve known a few outliers over the years, but just recently a whole handful of them jumped into my life at once. There is a family that used to live very close and now lives very far that means a whole lot to me. When we first met, we were friendly neighbors that gave each other eggs when they needed them or picked up packages when on vacation. Now if something were to happen to any of them, I’d be on the next plane to see them. It’s amazing to think that we spent four years as the former and become the latter in just this last year. The three kids are creative, energetic, sensitive, silly, and of course completely adorable. The mom is pretty, smart, and sweet with all good things going for her. The dad is kind and caring and always able to steer the family in the right direction (even if that direction is 600 miles south of here). Even now I'm using super generic words to describe them, because nothing I feel fits any words the way I want.

I can actually pinpoint when they became outliers—It was the day I yelled at their oldest after losing her temporarily in a grocery store. She had wandered off and when I found her, I think she was as shocked as I was by my reaction. Sheer panic set in, and I found myself hugging and yelling at her simultaneously. I grabbed her hand and didn’t let it go until we got in the car. I know I overreacted; I’m pretty sure that until that day I had never even raised my voice to them. Then we were in the car driving home, and I was looking at them in my rearview realizing just how much they meant to me. I thought about them, and their parents too, how they all snuck into my heart somehow. I hadn’t let myself feel so attached to them, but it had happened regardless. I never thought I’d care about another family so much, but I do love them and am missing them already. And although I don’t have some category in my mind to confine them to, they hold a new place that’s entirely theirs.

Having just seen Peter and the Starcatcher, I have in my mind—People say goodbye and soon enough, they start to forget. And maybe they will, I can’t say, but I know I won’t. Who says in life there has to be all these beginnings, middles, and ends? Why does distance and time always have to equal loss of some kind? I think life is a continuous series of events and that one thing often affects another, but nothing ever just stops. Time’s a test that way, never an ultimatum. I won’t forget, because I choose not to. I know I’ll grow and change and learn new things, but I’ll always have them in the back of my mind. Sometimes you have to look back to move forward, and I know they’ll be a constant force pushing me towards something great instead of holding me back.

“It’s supposed to hurt—that’s how you know it meant something!”

“Things are only worth what we’re willing to give up for them.”


What a wise 13 year old that Molly Aster is.

The person I am is the one who sees, and listens

Oh, I almost forgot! I had a true "Napkin Lit" moment in yoga last night. The cute surfer guy yoga instructor always gives these really nice talks before he starts class to get centered, and quiet. He said something that made me scramble as quietly (which was probably louder than I hoped it would be) as I could through my bag looking for a pen, and some scrap of paper. 


The quote was: "How strange to think that the voice inside my head is not truly who I am. The person I am is the one who sees, and listens to that voice." 

Out of the Woods

Hi everybody! I am so glad we are doing this! I've missed you guys so much! Being so far apart is hard. I can't wait to hear about all the adventures you all have been having! If we can't all be together, it'll be nice to sit and read everyone's posts. It's the next best thing to sitting in Small World together. : ) Thanks for setting it up Em!!


I think I've decided that my first posts are just going to be the story of what has happened in the past few months of my life since I left Princeton. It's a long, involved story, and it's completely fine if you don't read it. I just need to write it all down, and I thought this would be a good place for it. I've learned so much about myself, and life recently. I've been writing a lot, and going to a yoga class almost everyday. I feel like I'm finally starting to find out who I am, and where I'm supposed to be. So here's the story of how I've gotten here.


The past few months here have been a mess...a confusing, stressful, obnoxious, stupid mess. Since December I've been in love, engaged, broken up, broken hearted, angry, employed full-time, unemployed, employed part-time, moved three different times, dealing with my unstable family, and our deteriorating home, in therapy, in and out of doctors, completely lost and confused about what I wanted, what I was doing and who I am, having panic attacks, on medication for anxiety, depression, and stress-induced acid reflux, stopped having panic attacks, and started regaining some hope, peace, and sanity about three weeks ago. 


I woke up on a Sunday morning to go to yoga at the gym, and I started packing every article of clothing that I had at my Grandmother's house. I packed books, some notebooks, pens, pencils, pictures. Things that I would need or want to have if I never came back. I had no idea why I was packing, or where I thought I was going that I would need all of this. I kept stopping periodically and thinking "Um...hey buddy. Whatchya doin'? You're going to yoga right? Don't you just need your mat?" I just kept packing...and then I yelled goodbye to my Grandma and quickly flew out the door so she didn't see me holding bags of my stuff. While I drove, and during my yoga class I realized that I was packing to go see John. I needed answers, and closure. I just needed to see him. A few days earlier we had a phone conversation after not speaking for two months, and he told me that he didn't love me anymore. I couldn't believe that was true until I saw it in his eyes. So I convinced him to meet me on Tuesday. 


On Monday night I sat on the beach writing everything I needed to say to him, until it was too dark to write. I sat for a long time wrapped in a blanket just listening, and staring at the waves, thinking. I went home and organized all of my thoughts in my journal for him to read the next day. I took an hour nap, woke up and drove the two hours to a Panera Bread in the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania where we were meeting. We pulled into the parking lot at the exact same time, and talked for three hours. We talked about everything that has happened in the last few months, when our relationship was good, and what made it fall apart. He talked a lot about his family, and how he doesn't want to be at home with them. He just feels like he needs to be, and doesn't know where else to go, or what he wants to do. He's lost in the same position he was in December. He just doesn't know what he wants. I wasn't sure then either, and we decided that whatever we are doing right now is what we need to be doing. Getting back together would just put us back into the same boat we were in before, and that isn't healthy for anyone. He told me that he had to force himself out of love with me because he couldn't stand how he had hurt me. I could see the truth in his eyes, and it broke my heart. He doesn't think he deserves to be forgiven, and it's just too much for him to handle. I miss him so much, and I still love him. I forgave him a long time ago, he just needs to forgive himself, but he can't right now, and doesn't know if he ever will. So through tears, held hands, and hugs we decided that we should give each other some space, and time until Fall and then see where we are. But talking right now would be too painful because I want something from him that he can't give me. We kissed, and got into our cars. I was hysterically crying, and through the rain and his car window I think I could see that he was crying too. I calmed myself down, and waited for him to drive away. Then I drove home in the ridiculously hard rain for the entire two hours. 


I was too nervous to eat all day so I was going on no food, and hardly any sleep. As I got closer to home I decided the best way to end this day would be to go to yoga, then go home, eat something, and immediately go to sleep. I was feeling so good about the day. I was so proud of the two of us for talking through everything, and communicating so well, just like we used to do. And just as I was starting to feel a little like Wonder Woman...I got hit, and my car was spinning out of control in the pouring rain, hit another car, and finally stopped in the middle of an intersection. I ran a red light...I immediately started crying, and wanted to talk to John. My car wouldn't turn on, and even if it did I couldn't really remember how to drive it. Finally I was able to pull it into a parking lot of a convenient store at the intersection, got out and saw the car that hit me was smashed, but everyone was fine. Thank God! My mom's bakery is down the street, I called her and she came right over. I got a ticket, and a court date. Called my dad and the insurance company to find out what the hell I was supposed to do. I had never been in a car accident before. My car was drivable, but it didn't look good. 


So after the shock wore off the next day, and I was done being angry with myself for doing something SO STUPID, I realized that it couldn't have happened any other way. This was a lesson that I needed to learn. Are you ready for the lesson guys? Because it's a good one. Here it is: Do not drive a four hour round trip on unfamiliar highways in torrential rain, to have an emotionally exhausting, three hour long conversation with the person you love on ONE HOUR OF SLEEP WITH NO FOOD IN YOUR STOMACH. 


I'll give you the Sparknotes version, too: You are not invincible. Please sleep, and eat everyday.


More later on England, crying babies, and my most recent life discoveries. <3 <3 <3

I'll always open the door for people; I just don't know if I'll always be able to wait for them to walk through it.

Leah's First Post!

Hey dudes!

Well, Emily told me to post my short stories on here, and since I always do what Emily tells me to do (who doesn't), I decided to heed her advice.

Sorry if you've already seen/read this story--it's posted on my other blog too.  Just kidding.  Not sorry.  You'll just have to read it again!  Or else.



"'Til The Seagulls Go Home"

“I love seagulls.  They remind me of the ocean”, she said, as we sat on the hard, concrete curb, baking in the ninety-degree sun.

Seagulls called as she lit a cigarette, and offered one to me.  I waved my hand, explaining, “I really shouldn’t”.  I didn’t know why I shouldn’t.  I still had quite a complex involving doing things that my mother would highly disapprove of, whereas Viola didn’t care.

“I’ve got to have a cigarette before I go back home”, she explained, “It’s been three days.  I’m absolutely dying.”  She inhaled, deeply.

“You don’t think your mom knows by this point?”, I asked her.

I wondered how Viola wasn’t sweating like a madwoman.  She was wearing black jeans, on a day that felt as though we were living in middle of the Sahara.  Viola was always wearing black jeans, even in the summer.  I owned a pair like hers, but I never had the gall to wear them in the summer heat.

“I mean, I’m sure she suspects.”  She flicked her ashes onto the ground.  “I don’t know.  I don’t really care.”

A seagull squawked loudly above us. 

“Why do you think they’re here?”, she asked me.

“What?”

“The seagulls.  Why do you think they’re here today, when they could be by the water?  It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Maybe they needed a little time away”, I suggested, “A change of scenery”.

“Yeah, but they belong by the ocean.  Yet you’re always seeing them in parking lots.  Loads of them.  It’s strange.”

I agreed.  It was strange.

I changed the subject.

“So, how’s Ted?”

Ted was her boyfriend of a year and a half.  I had never met him.  He lived in Toronto.

“Annoying”, she laughed.  Then, cautiously, “We might move in together, actually”.

“Whoa.  Really?”  The shock was sincere.

“Yeah.”

She was silent for a minute, while she took a long drag on her rapidly diminishing cigarette.  She uncomfortably shifted her position, placing both legs directly in front of her.

“I don’t know.  My lease is up on my old place, and I don’t really know anybody in the city anymore, besides him.”

She looked at the ground, perhaps ashamed, or perhaps contemplating the many ways this decision could possibly go wrong.  For some reason, I had never really pictured Viola with a serious boyfriend.  I had known her my entire life, and I had never once suspected her of being somebody in love.

“Well, yeah, then it makes sense,” I offered.  I didn’t really know if it made any sense.  I had never actually been somebody in love, either.

“I don’t think we’ll get married or have kids or anything.  I mean, I really don’t think that at all.  I know we’ll break up eventually.” She was laughing as she said the last bit.  I laughed with her.

“But, we’ll just live together—and when it happens, it happens.”

She put out her stub of a cigarette, and walked over to the nearest trash can to dispose of it.  I reached up to feel my cheeks, flushed by the hellish heat.  My legs were falling asleep, so I shifted my position on curb.

Viola sat back down.  She slumped her back, and hanged her arms over her knees.

“Anyway, it’s weird.  I never thought I’d move in with Ted, but the circumstances are just right.”

There was a brief silence as we both watched the cars drive by.  Silences with her were never uncomfortable.  They always seemed, to me, to prove an intimacy that can only come with truly knowing somebody.

“I wonder if I’ll ever find somebody”, I said.  Truthfully, it depressed me that she had found the something that I am always searching for, and so easily.

“I didn’t know it would happen with Ted.  I mean, it just happened.  I didn’t have to try.”

“Yeah, but with me, I’m feel like I’m always trying.  Nothing ever works out.” I tried not to sound too whiney.  I despise petulance, but it seems to be my default when it comes to discussing matters such as love.

“I had this dream the other night,” I said “where I met the man of, well, my dreams.   He, of course, led me on like crazy.  I was convinced I would be happy forever.  But he ended up running away with another woman."

I shook my head, as if it were all a joke.

"It was this girl I went to school with, I think.”

I paused for a second, and suddenly an idea dawned on me.

“I used to fall back on my Dreamworld, but now even my Dreamworld is fucked up.”

Viola let out a loud, sadistic laugh.  I hadn’t noticed, but she had lit another cigarette.  She offered me one, again.  Although I wanted one, I refused the offer, once more.  I wasn’t laughing.

“Well, it’s not like my life is perfect”, Viola reasoned, “I have no idea what I’m going to do beyond tomorrow, basically.”

Viola was always saying things like that to make me feel better.  We had always been on the same level, as far as misery goes.  There had been many times when I secretly hoped that neither of us would ever be content; I think she felt the same way.

“You just need to get out of this city,” she continued, “You just need to find a place where you fit in.  That’s all that happened to me.  I mean, I got a job and I met people I liked and that’s how I met Ted and—“

 She trailed off, clearly distracted by something extraordinary. 

After a few seconds of silent suspense, I asked, “What?”

“The seagulls are gone.”  She stood up and surveyed the parking lot.   She raised her hand to her forehead, using it as a shield from the sun.

I got up and stood next to her, and did the same.

“Strange”, I said.  Viola nodded. 

We both stood together in the middle of the blacktop.  Viola, in all black, with her cigarette in hand—its smoke accompanying the heat waves, rising into the air.  Me, in my summer dress, feet crossed, one hand on my hip; the other hand noticeably devoid of any cigarette.  The air felt stale and empty, now—filled only by the sounds of cars whizzing by. 

“Huh.  I guess they’ve gone back home,” she sighed.

Napkin Lit.

Hey all! So right now we’re all starting over, doing something completely new and a tiny bit terrifying, but I decided I really don’t want to miss hearing about any of it! This seems like the best way for us to all stay connected; I played phonetag with that girl Leah for maybe two weeks till we finally talked! Our last blog helped us keep in touch just over the summer, but now the bar’s set a little higher for this one as I’m hoping for many summers spent here. I was trying to explain the name Napkin Lit. to my sister, and here’s what I came up with (Matt can probably explain it better than I can, but at least here's my take on it.)

This blog’s about your first thoughts, the messy and unedited ones. You can’t ignore those that so eagerly need to be written that you resort to napkins. Those are pretty damn important, don’t ya think? These can be our notes on napkins, whatever you feel you need to write in the moment--thoughts, ideas, poems, stories, sticky situations, jokes, haiku's, pickup lines, life happenings, lyrics, etc. So be rude and write on your napkin instead of using it to wipe the spaghetti sauce off your face. Then, challenge yourself to write it on here without changing any of it! Or be even ruder and get out your smartphone to blog when on a date or out with friends. Maybe they'll feel a little flattered to be the source of your inspiration? Or maybe they'll just excuse themselves and leave you there squinting to see that tiny keypad....It's a tossup.

Well anyway, I promise to write a real entry soon! I’ve been a huge beach bum this past week--sitting in the sun and writing till my hand could fall right off. I'll type some of that stuff up and stick it on here later. Love and miss you all, can’t wait to hear from ya soon.