World Music

As a person who enjoys the written word, story-telling and the art of proverbial jaunts, I have found a hobby over the years in becoming more familiar with music and words different from my own. Music for the sake of music.

I have spent my entire life listening to the words and the message and the story in Western song rather than recognizing the ephemera of it all and just enjoying the moment that music is able to give us listeners.

If I had a knack for creating music like so many of those whom I admire, I would pull together a band of intercontinental sounds and languages and throw them all in a casserole dish and let it bake for hours. Sadly, my guitar-playing is rough, my elementary school piano lessons have gathered dust in the attic of my brain, I have the rhythm of a rickety worn-out electric train and I can only play Oh Susannah on the steel drum. Therefore, I will leave the music makers to the sounds that curate the non-verbal exhibitions of our lives.

This is an extraordinary Ethiopian recording I stumbled upon. As I said before, I'm not a fan of 'reviews' but rather the evocativeness of this exchange. Google it, order yourself a copy of this and escape for 62 minutes. I just can't get enough of this record.

Barack Obama

It was an overwhelming sight to see in downtown Chicago last night. I didn't step into the rally but was able to soak up the peace and love on the streets of a town where I've meandered a majority of my life. I had never seen a moment of joy in Chicago quite like last night. Vendors filled the areas surrounding Grant Park, selling everything from light-up buttons to dollar bills with Obama's face imprinted...American flags sold by Central American accents, smiling so full of life and wonderment, watching the tears flow....

Did you watch the Young@Heart documentary yet? The epic journey of their performance of the following song is a pretty spectacular sight to see. (I couldn't find a film clip on youtube so thanks to Lee Dorsey/Allen Toussaint and the person who posted it for this incredible song...)

And speaking of hearts, who would have thought POLITICS could have one?

I'll be back soon with some photos from last night. We are on the threshold of some very powerful times....

'Twas the night before election day...

The air is tense.

I am thinking about wandering the crowds tomorrow night in Grant Park.

Thinking about it.

It may be too much too handle.

Tomorrow only knows.

Vote for Obama.

I love this clip.

See more Ron Howard videos at Funny or Die

iLike

I woke up this Saturday morning with my cup of coffee, relaxing before I head into a much-dreaded closing retail shift this afternoon. And every Saturday night for that matter. Not much to comment regarding the news. I am an Obama supporter and that's all I have to conclude from the latest political farce. The economy sucks, sales are slumping, everyone is on edge (both co-workers and my customers) and there are a million problems to be fixed. No sense dwelling on the bad. Instead I shall focus on a few of my favorite things à la Julie Andrews.

In no particular order.

1. The new yarn I bought this week. It's knitting season! I haven't picked it up the last few years so I had to borrow a knitting dvd from the library to refresh my memory on a few steps.

2. Ricky Gervais. He has a particular twinkle in his eye that entertains me so. Have I already commented on this? I don't remember. After watching the film Ghost Town I have concluded that the Ricky Gervais eye-twinkle is similar to that of the Tin Man in Wizard of Oz.

3. The new Lucinda Williams release. This one, Little Honey, is like listening to Car Wheels on a Gravel Road for the first time. Not so much in its sound, but in the sensation of hearing something so incredibly new and rockin and refreshing. I have seen her in concert several times and was even invited to the Soundstage taping at WTTW long, long ago. She is just the coolest. Incredible record.

4. Blindness. This film was genuinely disturbing but I was captivated throughout the entire picture. I was unfamiliar with the book but plan to read it once I get through all the other thirty books in line before it. I don't know why I seem to be drawn to apocalyptic themes so often....hmmm.

5. Halloween music. In particular, the latest Little Steven's Underground Garage release Halloween-a-Go-Go, the Classics from the Crypt album and an old Rhino release Halloween Hits with all the whimsical favorites such as Monster Mash, the Blob and Ghostbusters. You cannot deny the magnificence of the Monster Mash. I wish someone like Nick Cave or David Byrne would do a cover...

6. The 7-11 voter cups. I had no idea when I wandered into a 7-11 on my way to the train yesterday morning that I could CHOOSE an Obama, McCain or Undecided cup. I know I said I wasn't going to mention politics in this blog entry but I got a lot of questions about that cup I was holding. I told them it was a new blend at Starbucks - the Obama blend: a smooth, rich flavor with hints of anti-anxiety medication for a rich, robust experience.

6. Pretenders' Break Up the Concrete. Fantastic energy in this one. This is one to purchase and not download because the packaging includes a paper sleeve you can plant in soil and see some sprouts. I've always mentioned what an incredible incentive it would be to buy physical discs if there was a Willy Wonka golden ticket factor played in the surprise of it all...

So speaking of avalanched cd sales, I must now prepare myself for work.

SIGH!

To Sir, With Love

God, I love this movie. I just watched it again for the first time in years.

Discipline.

I have been trying to devote a little time each day to a concrete writing submission project, but I fall down on the job each time. I'm not going to beat myself up over this. I work a ridiculous work schedule, never have two consecutive days off, and if I do have free time I like to spend it with my husband. It would be fantastic to find myself an agent and receive some spectacular publishing house funding to concentrate solely on W-R-I-T-I-N-G, but I am well aware of the reality of 'luck' and find refuge in the mere fun of it all.

As I sift through candid writings from days of yore, old travelogues and travelblogs that were originally written as a correspondence to all the family and friends I've met along the way, I cringe at times when I remember the thoughts I had at the moment of the original writing. Again, I pull from the months in France in 2005. This was written at the moment of the so-called Parisian suburb riots, incidentally only 3 towns away from the one I was in, and at a time when I had absolutely no idea where my life would be taking me even one week from that point.

You re-read your own thoughts and relive those particular experiences and laugh at how silly everything seemed. But you also slowly smile and thank God for allowing you to choose your own adventure....

Monday, November 7th, 2005

1:05 pm - Creators, Creation, Media and Everything Else Out-of-Proportion

It's been a bizarre few days. I just heard from the folks back home and everyone was scared that I would somehow get lost in the Paris riots. I've watched it slowly grow, from the first few burnings being covered on the french news, to the eventual coverage by the BBC satellite tv at my cousin's house, to the concerned American family members and their kooky coverage back home. Kinda ironic how a little news story a week or two ago spread like a wildfire around the globe and is now out of control. I have walked and climbed and scaled these city walls and I haven't even smelled one whiff of fire. You know what? There are a million other things going on in this city too. I went to the Louvre yesterday because it was free and they moved the Mona Lisa to a nicer room and got rid of that scratched acrylic panel and replaced it with a very tall piece of glass. Also, the Information Desk at the Louvre is on strike. Everyone here in France goes on strike! Immigrants flock to this country because the social benefits are incredulous. I watched a tiny little nation's people protest around the Bastille to bring attention to their atrocious government and the loss of their culture. They had music, a bunch of loud percusions and you could hear it almost all the way over to the Seine. Today I was roaming and sat down on a bench near the Arc de Triomphe and some Arab women asked me if I could give them some money. The first one cursed me when i shook my head no. I explained to the second one that I also did not have any income and she blessed me as a sister in her language and the others smiled around me and did a two-second prayer vigil around me or something. They flirted with French security standing nearby and everyone laughed and they went on their way with their daily beggings. Globalism is here. Il faut melanger. C'est la vie. I wandered around the Pompidou Centre and looked at an incredible modern art collection, not organised chronologically or by school, but by socialist themes. The last rooms were war, death, voyeurism and prostitution. I left feeling rather melancholic, as if that's ALL we have to come together and create right now but mass chaos everywhere, but there was one last room right by the Big Bang entrance, which was nearly pitch black, you had to walk around a dark room with strangers and search for the guiding lights, featuring five film installations of particular cosmic happenings in the astral skies above. Five Angels for the Universe. Great, a little optimism never hurt anyone, perhaps misdiagnosed as naivete often, but pray tell, where exactly ARE these five angels and when are people going to start listening to them?

honka for wonka

There are many random occurrences in our daily routines that can make life a little more extraordinary.

While on my way to the train this past august, Willy Wonka was parked right outside my place. What do you think he announces over his rooftop intercom system? Or what song do you think plays as he drives? Most importantly, WHAT WAS HE DOING OUTSIDE MY HOME?

In the spirit of random joys, here are some other things that have made me smile recently.

1. Nick Cave @ the Riviera, September 28th. I have always wanted to catch one of his shows...his ballads and screechers and beat poems and other diversities have repeatedly piqued my curiosity. So he didn't perform Nobody's Baby Now, but I was pleased nonetheless. He even includes a Charlie Manson lookalike among his Bad Seeds. Mr. Cave swaggered like Mick Jagger and beguiled everyone with Polly Jean Harvey gestures. Had they not dated I would swear they were born from the same initial group of cells. The opening band, Black Diamond Heavies, showed us what the world would have been like had Animal the Muppet played piano instead of drums.

2. Two movies. The Fall, starring the most charismatic little Romanian actress who absolutely MADE the film. And Young@Heart. One of the most endearing film experiences I've encountered in quite some time.

3. My brothers. My brothers are my sisters. Does that make sense? One brother in NYC went to his first psychic to celebrate his birthday. I imagine the experience as that of Peewee Herman stepping into the psychic's office as he went for advice on where to find his bike. The basement of the Alamo. Don't forget your wallet, Peewee. And the other brother, who is a longtime rock-n-roll show attendee extraordinaire, has become a grown up and started wearing earplugs at loud shows. In his most recent rock-n-roll excursion, he forgot about his earplugs, they got stuck and he had to have them removed by doctors.

4. Cost Plus World Market's brand of Nutella-like spreads. They have a dark chocolate version. Slap some a dat slop on your bagel or croissant and behold. It tastes like thick brownie batter.

5. The autumn. This is, by far, my favorite time of the year in Chicago. I don't fare well in the heat, and I love tall boots and scarves and the scent of leaves and HALLOWEEN and warm jackets and crunching leaves in my path and cuddling on the couch under the blankets with Eric and watching scary movies.

6. Barack Obama. What can I say? He is above all the madness and stupidity in the world and knows the profundity of human interconnectedness. Chicago's early voting starts after Columbus Day and you can bet your big tall autumn boots I'll be at my neighborhood library to seal my vote first chance I get.

Rainboots.

And so vacation is over. I didn't make it to Savannah after all. Maybe next time. With the exception of stumbling around St. Augustine for a day, I did nothing but lounge in a raft in a backyard pool taking silly cellphone photos of my big toe with the tropical lagoon as a backdrop. I don't quite think my toe is ready for its internet debut, so this photo will have to do.

I had to go through extra security and full bag search upon my departure from Florida. The culprit? The spoonrest I bought at a Mexican pottery shop in that bag I'm holding in the picture. They thought it was a weapon. It was not. It was a resting spot for the weary spoon that stirs my winter porridge. But I'm glad those kids are doing their job.

The flooding at O'Hare was like nothing I had seen. We were delayed for several hours and then circled the city twice, over the waters to Michigan and back, up to Wisconsin and around again. I tuned into the cockpit audio and thought to myself, boy, what a horrible air traffic controller I'd be. The Lufthansa pilot coming in was the only one using cool words like 'Roger' and 'Over and Out.' This disappointed me. Upon arrival, the stench and dripping ceilings of the lowest level of the airport were SUCH a lovely welcome home and the Blue Line was completely flooded over and the husband couldn't get to the airport to pick me up due to thigh-high waterlogged roads in his path. The CTA built an ark of chewing gum and popsicle sticks, however, and a shuttle bus took us to the next available station. Nothing like seeing rowboats along the side of your urban streets. And all the flooded cemetaries....

Very strange weather indeed.

And then nothing but sunshine.

Tomorrow is autumn. Officially. This is my favorite time of year....

discovering the usa

There are still many pockets of the USA i have yet to discover. I was lucky enough as a child to have an itinerant set of grandparents who seemed to move all over and spend a year or two in various locales before settling into southern TX. They lived everywhere from Washington DC to Saudi Arabia to the hills of Tennessee. Combine those extended relatives who were scattered like dandelion seeds across the plain states, the desert southwest, Florida, Mexican border towns and California and you had yourself one fine national roster of family-permeated hostels. My childhood memories are filled with those of family roadtrips, backseat license plate bingo, strange rocky coasts, watching my dad talking to locals as they proudly discussed their homesteads, curios shops off the higway, an Indian chief in Oklahoma, a perpetually-carsick little brother and fighting over the music selections.

I am in the midst of planning a trip in a few weeks to visit an aunt, uncle and cousins in the South and am most ecstatically looking forward to discovering a place I have not yet stumbled upon: Savannah, Georgia...

While I don't quite know who reads this blog, if anyone, please do let me know if you have any memories or must-sees to share about Savannah.

Ma musique

the youngs

so in my usual mix of customers over the past 15+ years i have worked retail i bump into a mentionable here or there.

the magic of keepin' shop is that at any given moment in this big, bad world anyone can just step right in and strike up a conversation, pose a question, demand something, complain, smile, fart and walk away, or try to steal something.

monotony is seldom seen when you deal with a public at large. i would certainly like to be doing something more brain-stimulating each day, or something that i felt made more of a difference in the world. but i am slowly learning to find peace in my career ennui.

celebrities usually make the day interesting, as if you could just lean a bit on the counter, prop your elbows for a second and wonder what life must be like when you've actually got somewhere interesting to go each day. and something interesting to do. and interesting people to meet along the way. i can only imagine it must be better than operating a cash register and merchandising.

the day julia roberts stopped by was like a tornado hit. people were maniacal for DAYS after she stopped in one morning. magazines calling me to see what she bought, buzz buzzzzzzz buzzzzzzz. weird al yankovic, assorted television and radio personalities, greg kinnear, journalists, the mellencamps, musicians. there have been some fun ones over the years.

today's visit, however, was an interesting one in its simplicity. i helped a nice woman find some Rippingtons recordings, brought them and a music theory book over to the counter and pulled up her membership account with a phone number. the name NEIL YOUNG comes up on my computer screen and i politely thanked her, rang the transaction through without prying any further because I am a lady after all, bagged up her purchases and wished her well. She wished me well and off she went. Neil Young, common name right?

I thought a bit about it and mentioned how curious it was to a co-worker, come home to Google God this evening and there it was, the picture of the woman I met today: Pegi Young, Neil Young's wife with a musical life all her own.

Cool, huh.

summertime blues

while i have no means to travel, and i have major writers burnout due to long, excessive work hours and commutes into suburban terrains, and i don't have much money, i am trying to discover some new hobbies. or perhaps just rekindle old ones i should say.

1. exercise. i've always lived as a pedestrian and haven't thought too much about exercising with the exception of an occasional yoga class here and there. but i have developed an at-home and outdoors workout system for myself which i shall tell you more about after i lose 20 pounds or so. may the force be with me.

2. art projects. i recently took a quick inventory of store-bought materials and found objects i have collected over the past decade or so. it was like stepping on a land mine of my former creative self. one which was quickly buried in settling dust of......hmmm....life.

these two are substantial beginnings methinks.

dear little blog,
i will keep you 'posted.'
ba-dump-bump.

roots

i tried to explain to the old ball and chain during our drive back from milwaukee the other week why it is that i love traveling so much.

and i was having troubles finding the right words. hmmm.

i love the flavors, aromas and general essence of a new town. not only the architecture or restaurants or shops but mostly, the people.

so much of our souls are rooted in our early dwellings. our surroundings. as an attempt to keep up-to-date for my current job, i listen to radio quite a bit. as i listen to this kid rock song (haha), singin about 1989 along the northern beaches of Lake Michigan as he is sampling Sweet Home Alabama i think how ironic...why isn't he sampling the Nuge instead? Where are all our roots, man?

And it got me wondering, how many people are sitting around everyday wondering about somewhere else?

I have no idea what the answer is to such a question, perhaps I should take a poll on that one...but I will leave you with another sampling of another 2005 French Breakaway travel entry.

Saturday, October 29th, 2005

11:13 am - ahhhh...paris paris paris

I've completed my first week of living like a Parisian. Holy Toledo. I wish I had camera eyes like in that creepy movie... I finally found a net cafe...in the Latin Quarter. uuugh. I hate net cafes...not very inspirational places. There are people all around me, from all over the world, either researching things to do in Paris or checking their email and there are those two robotic men behind the counter controlling it all. So I leave my suburban homestead each morning, walk a few metres and catch a bus, where a nice portugese man greets me every morning. I ride to the local SNCF station, sit on the train for 20 minutes, surrounded by a melange of strange African languages that I have never heard before, wake up to the Eiffel Tower on the left and arrive in the center of the city. I have no sense of direction in the circular flow of things in Europe...I am accustomed to the grid-like structures of modern-day American cities, thus I have purchased a compass and have honed my intuitive skills even further. I am Rudolphe the red nosed reindeer. Guess I look like I know what I'm doing because people ask me for directions all the time. If only they knew... I have befriended a few fun pals from all over the place. A gal from Pasadena, a boy from Trinidad, and Spaniard, a Texan, an Algerian and a Parisian. Imagine that. My first day here I met a 65 year old Parisian man who offered to buy me an apartment in Paris so I could stay here. Hmmmmmm. WEIRD! Then there are the Japanese business men on the CHamps-Elysees who want to give me 1000 euros cash to go buy things at Louis Vuitton to help them smuggle back to their boutiques. Then there are the men in Montmartre who grab your face and want to paint you. I haven't come up with a good comeback yet but I'm working on it. They're really irritating. It's all just too weird. Everything. But oddly enough, why do I feel more at home wandering these streets then I do in the USA? Speaking of the USA, it's quite a controversial thing to be an American in the world these days. It's like a one nation, Under a Picnic Shelter, chowing down on BBQ ribs, while the rest of the world is on the swingset, famished, getting wet in the rain. I don't think people realize what we've become. I just don't think people really realize. Good thing people think I'm German. I guess. It's been fun walking and exploring and wandering aimlessly here. Makes me believe in destiny again. I stumbled across Ernest Hemingway's apartment in Paris. I can't wait to get back and write my little heart out. Or maybe I won't come back. Or maybe I'll just get a job as an international flight attendant. Or maybe the US government will answer my prayers and give me money for school. Or maybe I'll marry a frenchman and exist in provincial french life the rest of my years here on earth. Or maybe I'll become a revolutionary and start a new political party. I don't know what the outcome will be, but Paris is the place that makes me feel good to be alive....

milwaukee, wisconsin, usa

yesterday, eric and i took a drive north to milwaukee. the Fonz pulled into the parking spot next to us and said 'Aaaaaaaayyyyy. You wanna hop on back and visit Mr. C with me?'

'Sure, Fonz,' I replied. 'But what about my husband?'

'Follow the burnin' rubber, E. I got some friends I'd like you to meet.'

So I hopped on the back of the Fonz's bike, borrowing Pinky Tuscadero's neckerchief to tie up my wild rock-n-roll hair, and Eric revved up the engine of his Little Honda. Off we went...

We rolled past Summerfest, passing assorted roadies walking the streets of downtown Milwaukee, stopped and had a coffee at the Milwaukee Art Museum Ship, and waved to Laverne and Shirley as they were leaving the brewery.

A cop pulled Eric over with his Illinois plates and all and started hassling him about his speed. The Fonz got out his comb to smooth his hair and walked up to observe the scene firsthand.

'Aaaaaaaay, officer. Are you givin my amigo here some trouble?' scolded Fonz.

The officer replied in an all-too-familiar voice. It was Squiggy, and his teeth started chattering in the cold shadow of the Fonz. Squiggy apologized profusely to Big E, and we were back on the road before too long.

When we arrived at the Cunninghams' Joanie and Chachi were setting the dinner table, Mrs. C was in the kitchen, and Mr. C was hanging his Shriner hat in the closet. Our tummies were rumbling when....








Just kidding. The Fonz and the Cunninghams and Laverne and everyone else were nowhere to be found yesterday. It would have been nice, as Milwaukee had a bit of a sleepy feel to it. But that place has lots of potential.

As I commented to my husband on our Lake Michigan Circle Tour drive home (aka the scenic route back to Chicago), if I had shitloads of money like so many ridiculously rich folks in this world have, I would put it all into reviving cities. Milwaukee had a lot of charming building facades, some ghostly charms all about it and that lakefront of theirs is a beauty to behold.

Just imagine if the ridiculously rich spent more time reviving old parts of American cities instead of building homes too large to navigate without a map, what an amazing country we could have. It's like we'd be living in a perpetual art museum, with a whole world to curate.

Walking around pockets of assorted cities with boarded up windows and out-of-business signs everywhere is really starting to degenerate a certain aspect of my own spirit.

Oct. 22, 2005

Here is another entry from my last big voyage:

Saturday, October 22nd, 2005

8:45 am - I love Paris in the faallllll...

So the gray skies have arrived and il pleut dans mon coeur comme il pleut sur la ville. Up until this point, the weather has been gorgeous in upper Normandie...a few showers here and there but still delightful enough to sit at a sidewalk café once the sun yawned and stretched its arms. It's been like a grandes vacances, but on Monday morning my reality shall ebb and flow some more toward my new morning train/bus schedules with all the workers as they rush from the suburbs to that mystical magical place known as Paris. It's been amazing, sharing dinners in different homes in the small villages of France. Some of the elders who have lived harmoniously in the petites villes without ever stepping foot into Paris haven't seen an American since La Libération. I arrived in a house last night for a dinner invitation and I thought if nothing else comes of this trip, last night's conversation made it all worthwhile. When I walked into the home, my head hit the trim of the doorway. I stepped in the kitchen and the refridgerator was chest-high. The stove and sink hit me mid-thigh, and all of the people scattering around to greet me with kisses had to stretch on their tippy toes to reach me. I was a giant. I felt America-sized. I'm not that tall, really, but I had to rub my eyes and make sure I wasn't on candid camera or had fallen down yet another rabbit hole in life. It was fine once we sat down with our apéritifs but it only added to the constant surrealism of the days I spend in France. I swear I could open the screen-less window in my bedroom and a little robin redbreast would perch on my finger and sing just for me. Anyyay, the woman was almost 80 years old, and she sat down next to me and told me she went to school with my grandma. She played with my hair and touched my face all over, dangled my earrings and studied me. I thought for a second: this must be what famous people feel like. It was like she just couldn't believe I was sitting in her living room. She had crocheted a beautiful piece for me almost a decade ago upon my first arrival in France, which sits on my dresser among all my pretty perfume bottles. There had been a divorce since I was last here and the blood lines had seperated and technically, these were no longer members of Ma Famille, but I accepted the invitation anyway because it just seemed like the most diplomatic thing to do. Midway through the meal, it began. Now, these folks, my elders, were either just beginning their adult lives or trying to enjoy their youth under Nazi occupation. It's not something that is spoken of very often, French civilisation was rebuilt and restored to its origins, but the stories start to unfold when my rare appearance presents the opportunity to discuss. So do you know how your grandmother met your grandfather in Petit Couronne? It usually begins as a simple love story but each time it is told there are new developments, a repressed memory resurfaces, or the story changes itself altogether. Yes, my grandfather stormed the shores of Normandy with US Army paratroopers and combatted the land to this little town where my French grandma was living. The town had been ransacked by bombs, there are tales woven of entire families gone the next day, either taken away to concentration camps or their houses bombed. There are tales of questioning on the streets by the Nazis, of escape routes to Vichy, of sheer pandemonium that is very painfully and scarcely unveiled by the elders. But then the Americans arrived into town. They were staying in a grande maison, and the mother of the woman sitting next to me last night at the dinner table used to go down to gather cigarettes from the American soldiers for her son who had been imprisoned. In return, she did all their laundry, including my Grandpa's. That painted a picture for me...this woman next to me in her late teens, hanging American GI uniforms and undies and socks to dry in her childhood home's backyard. The stories are all so rich, scattered and nearly lost, and I couldn't do them any justice right now in these unsung words, but the tears that were shed last night around the table and the statement made me feel hopeful with that one staple of French culture, that they really really appreciate the glory of life, how to live it, their own patriotisme, and that simple yet overlooked expression that the Religion of Love, not WAR, is really the only solution. Nope, I couldn't do the stories any justice, but that I'm really glad I learned French and was able to experience them as closely as possible. Maybe if the whole world all did the same thing, just simply sit down every night for a two hour meal with family and friends and talk and share and laugh and cry, then we wouldn't be so lost in our current motivations. Bon weekend à tous! current mood: wooo baby this café is strong current music: i love paris - screamin jay hawkins version

Former Life in France

My grandmother grew up in Rouen, France. She moved here after the war with my American paratrooper grandfather soldier a year or so after D-Day. I spent some quality time there and did everything touristy I could possibly do in that town. I walked the town left to right, north to south, up and down for days on end and walked around trying to imagine my grandmother's life there as a young teen with Nazi soldiers all around. Then I wandered into this quirky little museum right off of the Place du Vieux Marche and wrote a bit about it here:

Tuesday, October 18th, 2005

9:37 am - The Fifth Element of the Universe

So Joan of Arc. Jeanne D'Arc. La Pucelle. The Maid of Orléans. The first female renegade of the land. La terre, si tu veux. This town I've been living in is the site of her torturous death. They've got this fire pit and a cross in a plaza here, marking the precise location of her burning, the dungeon tower where she was held prisoner, a museum, a church built in her name. The fine arts museum features painting after painting of her battles, a high school, a major avenue, even a gift shop in l'éspace du Vieux Marché with Joan of Arc snowglobes. I have my Joan days, where I visit all of the monuments and learn about her life. I sometimes stop and sit to watch what kind of audience she still attracts. I've done the wax figure museum in three languages now. My favorite part is when they demand her to sign her name to the papers upon her trial and she will only sign with a cross. All the men become irate, fearful, impaired in judgment and it's a mere power struggle of the sexes. A story shrouded in mystery and skepticism, it's her conviction of belief in a God that truly made her the French heroine. It pains me that scholars try to defy these convictions, that modern psychology attempts to level out that mysterious unknown with mechanical human labels... I don't quite know what the balance is, maybe it is that of science fiction, only what art may reveal, but I do know that not much has changed since Joan of Arc days. We're still waging war on the consciousness of man. What else is going on in the world these days? Can't they just show us new puppy pictures on the news? The monk doing sand paintings? The kids playing Kick the Can down the street? There's something to be said about our daily creations and what fills our collective mind everyday, and somehow, if we could, just bring it down a notch, another notch, another notch, then things might not be so, hmmmm, intensified. On that note, I'm gonna go pick out a pastry at the boulangerie, sit in front of the Cathedrale, listen to the accordian some more and count the number of girls wearing cowboy boots. I seriously never thought I'd return to France to find fabulously frocked french fashionista cowgirls everywhere.

going backwards a bit

i spent some time in France a few years back. about 5 1/2 months in late 2005. i had been working directly under a really mean lady-owner of a growing artsy company and didn't feel compelled to make a career of it, i was dating someone at the time who was not my cup of tea, and i had a pretty revolting set of experiences in my mid-twenties which prompted a need for a fresh beginning. i was between leases, had saved up a lot of money, paid off many debts and was ready to go.

my relatives overseas have always been extraordinary curators of my worldy whims and entertained the idea of spending more time with them to 'see what i could find.' i worked on some translation bits for my musician cousins' production company in the Alps and worked with 3-year olds on art projects at my cousin's Ecole Maternelle in Haute Normandie. and i wandered.

the next few postings are a resurrection of an old travel blog i had kept while i was overseas. i recently located the blog again and want to preserve it here.

Monday, October 17th, 2005

8:28 am - Il était une fois un ciel menaçant...

So I'm going to give this thing a whirl. Years have gone by in the bottomless pit of the internet (the warped dimension that it is) and little has changed. I'm nearing 30, I still have no solidified career to speak of, I had been diagnosed with multiple psychological disorders from which I opted to run, I took their pills (both the red and the blue), and now I'm house-sitting in Haute-Normandie with three French cats who play jazz music with their catnip toys. Life really isn't so bad, once you get the hang of the neurotic flow of traffic around the Arc de Triomphe and you realize a baguette is not just a baguette, but a staple of an entire culture. It will always be that way, a world of impatient drivers in a hub of chaos, the body of Christ sitting limp in the passenger seat...late for dinner again...so we might as well band together, this world and me, and figure out a way to at least make it F-U-N. Yes, I quit my job in Chicago and ran to my relatives here. I love Chicago, don't get me wrong, but somehow life there was beginning to seem as contrived as the Broadway Musical of the same name. There was a staged act, a prison sentence, puppeteer lawyers and an assortment of glitzy musical acts. Sha-ZAM! Still to this day, when I tell any European which American rampart I hail from, the initial response is And while I once frequented the Green Mill which was once operated by Al Capone, I can assure you that the gangsters have left the building and have been replaced by expensive cover charges, gimmicky tours, Starbucks, Lettuce Entertain You restaurant chains and any other America-sized idea of a good time. That's just it, you know, America is like the next size offering at Starbucks. Tall, Grande, Venti, and America sized. These are your options in America. For my friends outside the USA, at Starbucks coffee restaurant chain we stand in enormous lines and wait to order complicated espresso beverages. Orders go something like this: In France, we find a seat in the café, a waiter comes around, we order un café, it's a small little pinky-sized drink and it takes us two hours and intense worldly conversation with others to consume it. I suppose there is Passion in both cultures... America's bordering on obsessive compulsion, France's dwelling on individualities... but where are all the people in between supposed to go? current mood: contemplative current music: Nosfell's Mindala Jinka

This YouTube clip entertains me.

music

i'm tired of reviews. music should be a personal thing, nest-ce pas?

these are not necessarily new. just a list of what i am listening to.

1. the troggs.
2. aimee mann's #*&%@ smilers
3. neil diamond's home before dark (this is seriously good stuff, not at all for aging un-hipsters)
4. best of chicago - the early years
5. la belle epoque: emi's french girls 1966-1968
6. fear and loathing in las vegas soundtrack
7. nick cave's dig lazarus dig
8. philip glass' powaqqatsi
9. jim white's transnormal skiperoo
10. time-life music's animal rock
11. john hiatt's same old man
12. spoon's ga ga ga ga ga
13. goldfrapp's seventh tree
14. orchestra baobob's made in dakar (AWESOME!)
15. emmylou harris' all i intended to be

ps. am i the only one who doesn't own an i-pod?

hot fun in the summertime

not really.

good song, though.

it's actually a lot of blood, sweat and tears gearing up for another summer in Chicago.

central air - MUST BE NICE! the hubby and i set up our window unit rigs this morning. it was hot and i mean DAMN HOT in this old beat-up apartment this morning. yesterday's storm left a sauna overnight for us and i woke up three hours later than my usual time with a mean case of sweat-head.

during window-unit air-conditioning season, or i suppose if you'd prefer to call it Summer you can, you have to pretend like you're camping. roughing it. don't you dare turn on the microwave while the unit in the living room is going or else the lamps and alarm clock will go out in the bedroom. and don't even think about toasting your bagel in the toaster oven or the office and solarium will go kaput. the key to the switch in the breaker room might be in its proper place or it just might have been swiped by the homeless man who was found living under the deck two years ago. you just might not know!

sometimes you have to wait 22 hours in the hot, sweaty dark for the Nicaraguan maintenance man or his nephew to show up to flip the switch.

and sometimes you have to escape and dream and stare out at the houses across the street and wonder what it's like to live with central air conditioning. however this escape is sometimes disrupted by that one lone hillbilly house (or hillybilly as my french relatives like to call them) and that beer-gutted sweaty bald man with his shirt off, just standing in the rain getting his annual bath.

i wonder if he was concerned with the raindrops falling into his beer can at 11am this morning.

Remarkable, isn't it?

Sunday Slothing

There is nothing very Remarkable about a day of slothing.

Except the fact that I rely heavily on them every so often. And recently, more often than not.

It's retail, man. 15 years of retail now, never sitting down, running around for demanding hurried citizens of the human race. I'm beat. Worn out.

If every customer were lovely and polite, I wouldn't mind. But sadly, only a small handful are lovely and polite, so I do very much mind.

It can't be stated enough, but every member of the human race in every developed country in this world should have to serve a year in the retail sector. Or waitressing.

Everyone.

Especially you.

You know who you are.

All Things Remarkable V. 1.1

Okay, okay. I'm off to a slow start with this Remarkable thing.

I was going to Remark on the sign I saw some overweight Chicago slob was toting WHILE DRIVING as a statement to some Cubs fans he saw.

Then I was going to Remark on something else. And I can't really remember what that was.

So let me pull something out of my ass for today's Remarkable Thing.

Ummmmm.

Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh.

Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....

Today there was a power outage at work. The lights dimmed, computers went berserk, escalators stopped, elevator alarm went off.

Except for my department. Every electrical component of my department purred like a kitten.

I felt like I was at the roller rink, and the lights went dim, and I was doing cool moves in the center ring to a Nu Shooz song.

B,b,baby...I-I-I can't wait.

All Things Remarkable

While I was walking home from the neighborhood K-Mart last night with a large $5 Little Caesar's pepperoni pizza, cell phone in hand talking to my husband, I had an idea.

I am going to try and find one thing Remarkable each day.

If I can find one thing Remarkable each day then perhaps my world will be a more interesting place.

This may sound uninspired and boring to those of you dear readers who lead very exciting lives, but for me it is a dire attempt to maintain the most grounded sense of adventure possible.

I of course, cannot change the name of this already-titled blog. But come on, it's a Jacques Dutronc lyric. How can you go wrong with that?

So let me get started. Yesterday was the $5 pizza. Today, what will it be.

I don't know about you, but I can hardly stand the suspense.

Short Story

Anna caught her breath at the curbside just as the bus sped off down the street, prompting her to cough in the cloud of exhaust. She would be late to work again, and this time, there was no guarantee any ounce of redemption could be salvaged.

She looked at her watch and then up at the sky. The clouds were rolling southeast and so she decided it was a good time to follow them.

As she walked through the neighborhood, calamity rose at the playground lot of the elementary school on Sunrise Avenue. Though it was not apparent to anyone but her, it seemed, she noticed a small boy sitting on the asphalt ground underneath a slide. The school bell was ringing and kids scurried to the entrances while the young boy remained.

"Aren't you going to get to your classroom? You don't wanna be late!" Anna shouted over to him through the fence.

"Aren't you going to be late for your job?" the young boy responded.

To be continued....

Music

I must admit, over the years my feverish passion for locating new music for my library, as well as other hobbies, has somewhat begun to crumble downhill. Peut-etre this is something that happens as we grow older...no matter how 'hip' you once were, it seems age takes a toll on the gusto of youth. The urge to discover falls 2nd place to, well I don't quite know...comfort, perhaps?

Sad, yes. But pleasing when one can recognize this and make the appropriate changes to derail such a dilemma.

I am making a conscious effort to rekindle these desires for exploration, starting first with my music collection. I figure I cannot go wrong with any LuakaBop record. It's not a new recording by any means, but any new introduction deserves mention. The 3rd part of the World Psychedelic Classics series, 'Love's a Real Thing: The Funky Fuzzy Sounds of West Africa' ignites a part of you unaware of its own kindle. The album features 12 tracks recorded by various artists between the late 60s and throughout the 70s, scattering melodies among percussions, chants between blasting guitar riffs, and bells among distortion. Plus you just want to get up and dance.

When I used to travel as a youth, when technology consisted of tape recordings and the radio was your window to the locale, I used to hit the 'record' button on my jambox and take home cassette recordings of the local radio station djs, commercial interruptions and all. For me, these cassettes were better than any photograph I could have taken. I still pop them in from time to time and revisit the places I once ventured. This album, had I visited West Africa as a youth, would have been my audio souvenir, serving as an introduction to a land once invisible to me.

And for me, that's what good music should do: allow you to get acquainted with a land you've never seen before. Lands that seem oh-so-strange yet so vaguely familiar.

ma nouvelle vie comme femme

C'est evident que la vie celibataire nous monte les choses du mystere. C'est vraiment le voyage qui nous donne un élément du surpris avec chaque nouvelle relation.

Mais le mariage n'est pas un arret forcé au milieu de notre chemin. C'est a dire que c'est un chemin caché a la reste du monde. Un chemin ou personne n'essai jamais a decouvrir toute seule.

Tout ca change le mystere et commence un fil du mystique dans sa place.

Et comme une nouvelle chanson, c'est un bruit qui nous partage avec le monde.

Moi, j'écoute a la musique de cette jeune anglaise ces jours-la:
Kate Nash's MySpace Page
C'est un peu comme Lilly Allen un peu plus agée.

Bonne journée a tous. J'éspere que le mystique se trouve dans votre poche du monde bientot aussi.

oh my. i'm married.

i have been adjusting to referring to eric as (gulp) my HUSBAND over the past several days.

how does this happen so fast? did i want it to happen so fast? were we thinking straight?

nothing could have been more fun than our petite vegas wedding. we enjoyed the company of about 30 people in the chapel and at dinner afterwards. the most cheesetastic Tropicana karaoke bar in the after hours one could possibly locate on the LV strip.

of course then there was my cold. my brother gave me a most lovely wedding gift. a sinucleanse neti-pot, which if you are unfamiliar, is an aladdin-type genie vessel in which you run a saline mixture into one nostril as it flows out the other. blow nose and repeat in second nostril. thrilling.

and an even more thrilling experience approximately one hour before your very own wedding. i ran out of time for my hair, but man, did my nostrils feel gooooo-ooooood.

bonjour a tous

je ne veux pas que j'oublie mon francais donc j'essayerai a ecrire quelque mots de temps en temps.

donc il faut m'excuser en avance pour tous mes betises.

c'est la nouvelle annee et je suis prete pour stimuler l'esprit. le francais, ca diviser mon esprit en deux et c'est bien pour exerciser le petit souris qui cours dedans.

j'ai achete un calendrier pour l'annee 2008. c'est une phrase francaise chaque jour et une chose interessante est qu'il commence exactement comme les choses dans ma vie. par example, je partirai jeudi pour mon mariage a Las Vegas. chaque jour pendant cette semaine enseigne et mentionnne les phrases qui est a propos d'arranger les petits voyages.

1. les voyage en train sont bon marches.
2. dis-moi si tu as besoin d'aide pour organiser ton voyage.


ca c'est le petit rod serling dans ma vie.

marriage

i would really like to write again. it's been ages since my mind was high with feverish creativity and reflection, and i must say it was a purposeful step back so that i could concentrate on 'more important things.'

i stepped away from the blogosphere in an attempt to concentrate on more private writing sessions, but have i made this happen? um, no.

hopefully, with a marriage this weekend, and more newness of life, and walking down the aisle of a las vegas chapel, i will feel amused and inspired by life and all of its unpredictability.