some 2009 nikki picks

another year in music over and gone. i made my annual compilation for some friends and co-workers featuring some of my fave releases from the year. and a final Michael Jackson bow. the track list is as follows:

1. Rowe Jukebox Promo / The Buckinghams from 2131 South Michigan Avenue 60s Garage & Psychedelia from U.S.A. and Destination Records
2. Out At Sea / Heartless Bastards
3. Good Man / Heavy Trash
4. People Got A Lotta Nerve / Neko Case
5. Periodically Triple or Double / Yo La Tengo
6. Wilco (The Song) / Wilco
7. Lifs (Don't Mean Nothin') / Michael & The Messengers from 2131 South Michigan Avenue 60s Garage & Psychedelia from U.S.A. and Destination Records
8. Black Hearted Love / PJ Harvey & John Parish
9. Ten Thousand Words / Avett Brothers
10. I Feel A Change Comin' On / Bob Dylan
11. Inspiration Information /Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings from Dark Was The Night, a Red Hot compilation
12. She Wolf/ Shakira
13. Over It / Dinosaur Jr.
14. Malibu Gas Station / Sonic Youth
15. Hey Snow White / The New Pornographers from Dark Was The Night, a Red Hot compilation
16. For Beginners / M. Ward
17. Taller Children / Elizabeth & The Catapult
18. Soul Finger / Oscar Hamod & The Majestics from 2131 South Michigan Avenue 60s Garage & Psychedelia from U.S.A. and Destination Records
19. Gypsy [Live] / Shakira
20. That's What Your Love Gets / Heavy Trash
21. Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough / Michael Jackson

And after I put this together and learned the news of Vic Chesnutt's death, I will consider this my hidden bonus track. One of my favorite old tunes from the West of Rome album:





RIP Vic.

Happy December!

I have not taken this writing venture on any particular and carefully-chosen path, now have I? I was hoping by musing for awhile, some fantastic light-bulb would have popped over my head by now.

(to the tune of Air Supply's All Out Of Love)
I'm all outta blog.
I'm so lost without words....

Community is essential to any creative endeavor. I haven't really had the time to 'socialize' in the blogosphere for this (tiny) writing venture to take off. I veered away from my local art community after mayhem befell me. Perhaps this has left me traumatized in some aspect. Whatever the case may be, it's December.

Which means a New Year is just straight ahead.

Concert Review

Heavy Trash
Schuba's
Chicago, IL
Sunday, November 15th, 2009

My longtime dreamboat, Jon Spencer, took a lil punk and mixed it up with some rockabilly and a handsome suit and a great band to make room for a new kinda spunk.

But that's all I can say because I am smitten in his presence.

I am awaiting the youtube presentation from the guy who was standing in front of me. Words cannot convey the dreaminess that is Jon Spencer.

I am sorry, they just cannot.

hahahahahahhahahahahaa

oh it's november....

halloween wedding avec grandmere, her tiara i made her wear and her purple cast....

the autumn has been an odd one; the sun wouldn't appear for ten days or more at a time. and then BAM...here comes the sun...a few lil 'buried treasure' kind of days. it actually kinda turned out quite lovely that way. i love a good surprise....

random thoughts:

• i still have not broken ground with any written manuscript. very frustrated with this.
• the Mr. is still working 2nd shift and it's a drag.
• i am hoping his request off for his friday the 13th birthday will be approved so we can orchestrate a fun lil dinner party.
  
• the little nyc frere is coming to visit next week for one month. we are going to decorate my home for christmas and bake cookies. this also means vegetarian meals for a month....
• i long for a home big enough to host a holiday. cramming in a two bedroom apartment just doesn't cut it.
  
• i am carefully planning my travels for the new year. i only have ten days to work with but i hope to squeeze in savannah, nyc, france and perhaps one surprise weekend somewhere. i always like to keep my travel options open. but seriously, america, TEN FRIGGIN VACATION DAYS A YEAR!?!?!?!?!?
  
• i am loving the new Monsters Of Folk (primarily on account of M. Ward's work) and my new bargain bin find: Burl Ives - A Little Bitty Tear
• i am so very tired when i come home from work each night that i have zero energy and hope that these days do not last forever and ever.

bring on december. i've got my mittens out and i'm ready.

Concert Review

Bob Dylan. Aragon Ballroom. Chicago, IL. October 30, 2009.

wllitstrtdoffprttyclevenificouldn'tunderstandonesinglelyrichewassinging.
wentbymyslfcuzjustthoughttwassomethinineededtadointhislifetime.
kndaendedupbeinlikeabigfratpartywithbeercausewheneverhedplayanoldieallthefratboysnsororitygirlswentwild.
raisinbeerglasses'Howdoesitfeel'butibettheywerejus'waitinforEvrybodymustgitSTONED.
bandsoundidgoodbutagincantrillyundahstan'whathesingin.

twaslikewatchinaforeignfilmexcepttherewerenosubtitles.

So I can scratch it off my Things-I-Ought-To-Do-In-Life-Before-I-Die list.

RIP Chicago 2016 Olympic bid....

The only reason I am upset is because my chariot, aka the CTA, will probably not become completely modernized after all.

I was thinking of getting together a little bed and breakfast, hoping business and opportunity would have flocked to the edges of my Lake, friends from afar would come and visit me and vast improvements would be made to this grungy, dirty city.

But come on, the Olympics is about SPORTS, and sports in this city are merely another reason to drink.

(Insert SNL DA BEARS SUPERFANS clip here.)

(Hitch a ride on the #152 Addison bus on a Cubs home game day.)

(Try having a worldly conversation with the owner of Hoagie Hut.)

This is such a strange place to live. It really truly is.

happy autumn/home with the flu

Summer has ended and autumn has arrived in Chicago. Maybe not in reality, as the weather has been rather balmy and about 80 degrees for the last few weeks. But when it finally gets here, boy oh boy, I just love this season. Time for jackets and scarves and my favorite tall boots. (For the closer-to-winter temperature cause those babies are thoroughly insulated.)

Pickin' out a pumpkin with Mr. T. Crunching leaves on my walks to and from the bus stop. Running to the country to visit my parents as we get the first fire going in the fireplace for the year. Work schedules permitting, taking a drive down to my old college town to see the gorgeous surrounding canopies of color all around. And of course, Halloween (in which we are attending a wedding!) and Thanksgiving (complete with my lil bro-bro coming home for three weeks from NYC).

It's also the time of year I usually get a little weathered from the changing climate, the back-to-school germs, the inevitable change that does me in as I battle my customer crowds and germs and viruses incubate. Sigh.

And so I am home-bound for the weekend, stocked up with miscellaneous entertainment from the Chicago Public Library and my own:
Films:
Classe Tous Risques
Taste of Cherry
Disc 2 of We Shall Remain
Northfork
Fight Club, Sense & Sensibility, old stuff to watch before the VHS tapes are gone...
Books:
The Winner Stands Alone
The Death of Bunny Monro (which I'm almost finished with....)
and assorted magazines such as Mojo, Reader's Digest, Chicago, Budget Travel, Time Out Chicago, Midwest Living (for the autumn crafts of COURSE) and this new premier issue of Afar to check out.

Better get busy....


PS UPDATE. Upon reviewing some of the Bloomington/Nashville/Brown County websites for potential weekend getaways, I am sad to announce ....RIP Little Nashville Opry. My poor ma n pa were looking so very much foward to their Asleep At the Wheel concert in a month, and I was even lookin' to join them. RIP you lil hut in the hills of Southern Indiana. Guess this will mean more time at the Gnaw Bone Flea Market....

9/9/09

On this momentous day, I contain no particular musings of any sort of significance.

1. It is my Grandmere's birthday.
2. I do not work today.
3. I plan to do laundry.
4. I spent my extra money for the month shopping on Labor Day.
5. I think I'll do a CrockPot roast today.
6. I have a bit of a sore throat.
7. I slept in until 8:10 today.
8. My calves are achy.
9. I think I'll have some Cinnamon Kashi cereal for breakfast.

9/09/09 shall be remembered as another existential day.

on tenterhooks

Again, falling down on the comedy these past few days! I suppose you can't really go hunting down comedy in the seemingly big bad world. It must come naturally. I'm not there yet.

Sunday marks 33 years on Planet Earth for this female. Has it really been 33 years?

Random thoughts:

1. I am tired of shoplifters.

2. I am really ready for fall and my big black boots again.

3. I enjoyed Audrey Niffenegger's new book so much that I wrote her to thank her for a glorious work of art. She wrote back describing these weeks before its release as being 'on tenterhooks' and thanks for reassuring her.

4. I had to look up the phrase 'on tenterhooks.'

5. I had originally gone to France in 2005 to write for five months and come back with finished rough draft of manuscript in hand. I did not, however, account for the language division when my brain cuts itself in half to speak another language.

6. I have itchy feet to get the heck outta Chicago.

For right now, that's all I've got.

Comedic Revival 2

Boy, I am really falling down on the job with this one. (See previous posting for the challenge to myself.) The public is wearing me out, man! I could re-inact the phone call I took from a man on his phone driving while accessing Google maps with his screaming 2-year-old in the back seat. "I'm sorry, sir, but we do not offer babysitting services at our bookstore location."

But I have a real hard time finding humor in parents-who-don't-really-wanna-be-parents.

Or I could detail the near-brawl that occured on my bus ride home tonight, when an elderly man got on and starting yelling at a guy speaking Spanish on his cell phone. But that wasn't really funny.

Except for the Latina sister.

"Sit your ass down! What are you doing arguing with an 80-year-old Archie Bunker? You ain't gonna get nothin done with this!"

Over shouting matches picking up steam, her voice echoed through, "You don't have to argue with a bigot. You don't have to argue with a bigot, He is Archie Bunker. He is Archie Bunker," over and over again, she kept repeating, as I positioned my bag onto my right side so as to cushion myself should a punch get thrown my way.

It was getting pretty heated for about five minutes there.

Even NOT funnier is that this is about the third time in a one year period on this bus route that I have witnessed these occurences.

So what can I say, humor is a gift. It's a very particular gift. Especially humor writing. I used to be really good at it. Then all this 'big bad life' stuff got in me way and hardened me into serious intensity when I expressively write. I suppose if I didn't do it here, talk the serious smack I mean, then my silly jokester persona with my co-workers would be sacrificed for, you know, something a lil too heavy for the workplace.

It's good to have a variety about oneself, but what happens when one flavor out-spices the rest? It's like that chicken dish I whipped up last month when the French girl was here....Poulet a trop d'epices.

After I finish this awesome ghostly book (an advance copy of Audrey Niffenegger's new otherwordly book due out in September), I am going to throw myself back into some David Sedaris. And I also picked up the literary essay "Everything I Needed to Know About Being A Girl I Learned From Judy Blume." My husband laughed at me last year for grabbing all my old Judy Blume books at my parents' place in Indiana and doing a Judy Blume reading-binge one summer....

Comedic Revival

One who knows life is full of pain, heartache, dolrums, fatigue and dead-ends has every capability of climbing to the funny side of life again. This is necessity. I will eventually revisit the other themes I've brought up in my brainstorms here i.e. visit from the French Cousine, Beautiful Girls/Boys of the Lost Time in a Mental Health Facility, 2005 Escapade to France, various short stories, and other shenanigans of life as they happen to me.

But to have these in any kind of organized artistic platform would be anything but me. As mentioned in the disclaimer, I shall discuss the "contemporary musing on people, the universe and all observations in between."

I operate in brainstorm-format. I sometime plop my head on that pillow at the end of each day and my brain will simply not turn off. This is both a blessing and a curse. I know millions around the world could easily commiserate on that notion. The trick is to join these commiserations into a manmade centrifugal force. And what a powerful centrifugal force humor and laughter is to a group of human beings.

In light of John Hughes' passing, and that unrivaled, intelligent comedy his work left behind, I want to revisit my own comedic energy. Many of us who have lived a little life, experienced a few experiences, traveled to different lands, fallen in and out of love, danced a polka and fallen down flat, stared up at the stars in wonderment...well, there is no better medicine than laughter.

For this week, August 9-15, 2009 I am going to challenge myself to write one comedic anecdote to have taken place on each day. Today is Sunday, our first day of the week, and I am busy in the air-conditioning in our first 97 degree day of the summer pulling together items for a friend's garage sale. Not sure what I will come up with today. But it is only just before 2pm, and I've got the rest of the day ahead of me.

Laughter Centre, activate!

I had no idea John Hughes was missing.

And all this time I thought being a recluse merely meant one was depressed. If I didn't work with 'people' in retail, I'd be considered a recluse. Or perhaps I, too, ran away from a spotlight once or twice in my life. Yeah, that's what I'll pretend.

Speaking of 'people,' what a sweet tale. Fantastic writer.

I hope the world will wake up. I mean FINALLY wake up.

Open Letter to Mr. John Hughes

Mr. Hughes,

My brother just called me up during my commute from that wacky North Shore and told me the news. My heart sank! You just called me dear a few weeks back! Here are the things I ought to have said to you a few weeks back when I waited on you in another Saturday night in the ol' life of this underachieving shopgirl:

This pile of Criterion movies you're purchasing....yours ought to be included in the Criterion Collection catalog. They are genuine classics.

Pretty in Pink...what a part of my life.... the North Shore and the divisionism of richies and those who'd rather just crawl under a rock. I often have Molly Ringwald moments at the ol' shop and I wonder what some of those customers might say if they saw where I lived. My husband looks like Duckie, you know. That may have even been one of the reasons I fell in love with him. I'm sure it was a topic of many discussions of what the world may have been like had Andy gone to Duckie instead....

Sixteen Candles...my favorite part of that movie is when the jock bullies are getting the Geeks out of the trunk of their car and the last Geek scoots over a little bit to assist so the bully can pick him up easier. Subtle hilarity is one of the greatest joys of my life.

Breakfast Club....I drive around the old haunts with my husband as we're out and about running our lil errands and on our way to losing ourself in the movie theater for a few hours.

Mister Hughes, it was a pleasure assisting you and I just wanted to tell you what a smile you brought to my face not only tonight but throughout my life.

Sincerely,
Underachieving Shopgirl, who hopes to one day be a CLASSIC like you.

PS. about that James Stewart box set....if you didn't finish them all here in this earthly realm hope you're sitting up there in Heaven watching Weird Science with Jimmy as we speak...

This one's for you...

Orphan

Saw the movie Orphan today. I hesitated.... one side of me just simply loves a scary creepy movie yet the other side of me has to be careful with themes. Art, film, books....to experience something then find it roaming around there in the universe like that. Sometimes I experience artistic sensory overload. I prefer it this way. Makes one not feel so alone in the universe, nest-ce pas?

I read Time Travelers Wife while on medical leave on what they call 'pelvic rest' after a specific sort of trauma had occured. A nurse from the insurance company called to check on my pregnancy after she noticed something was happening from recent medical claims and I had just gotten to the part where the character in the book was in the the same hospital I was in after several days of lots of blood and no more little heartbeat or movement inside the womb. I had just gone through it....this same very experience....had that book sitting on the shelf for months...and just picked it up on a whim...same exact hospital as mentioned in the book and well....I just kinda lost it on the phone with that nurse. They say to stay away from certain themes and surround yourself with sunshine, lollipops and rainbows, but sometimes connecting to a fictional tale at that particular moment of pain is kinda God's way of sayin, "I wish this world was perfect and one never had to endure pain, but darlin' (at this point God brushed the hair out of my teary eyes with a tad of an Elvis-like swagger) women's pain is one of the most defining moments of divinity you may find yourself floating in. I am Here."

Mr. T and I caught the first showing of the film Orphan this morning. Even the opening scene was difficult for me to watch. Flashbacks. Surrounded by doctors and nurses in a hazy fog hearing, "I'm so sorry for your loss." Over and over and over again. Sitting on a bench outside the hospital while Mr. T went to pull up the car two years ago, my white box filled with items from the March of Dimes as a woman was rolled up next to me with her newborn baby in her arms and balloons and flowers and family all around. Yes, the opening scene of today's movie and whispers of it throughout the film were very difficult reminders.

But if I had to express myself and my experience, an angry horror film isn't too far off.

Sooooooo soooo many themes in this movie and I don't want to give away any of the twists. Controversial? What ISN'T controversial these days?

Anyway....

my heart feels a lil heavy during this time of the year.
i'd change the lyric in Lucinda Williams' 'Heaven Blues' from 'mother' to 'child.'

Theme Song

fitting in

i have racing thoughts in these post-euphoria moments of a twelve (!!) day headache. not to mention VALIUM. the CT came back clear, just more imbalances with my damn thyroid and upped synthroid dosages and blah blah blah.

this is that type of information that strangers cringe when they read on the internet. WHO THE HELL CARES?

that wasn't the first time i got my head checked. it was checked previously by a jumbo jet. WOOOHOOOO. when you feel heavy metal............

i don't like to talk about that much.

mostly because i don't quite understand.

not even any artwork i've ever attempted to produce has been able to explain.

so i've just shoved it all under the rug and bring it out every so often to ponder a bit.

before my computer crashes again, though, i will say this. i am almost 33 years old and i did not think that at this age i still would not quite know where i fit into the universe.

this brings me great sadness.

does anyone else out there feel this way?

i am going to go to youtube and watch weird al yankovic videos now. i'll have you know i performed FAT today at work for a few select coworkers.

"your butt is wiiiide"

I totally want to write to Gregory House, M.D.

This would be a great episode of House. Girl with mysterious week-long headache, virtually normal CT scans, then starts predicting the future. Turns out one of her dental fillings is made of Kryptonite and she is secretly related to Superman. Then it turns out to just be a delusion he is experiencing while on hiatus in the Mental Hospital.

But these really are shots of my brain. They gave me a cd at my appointment today so I've been spending the afternoon researching the internet on how to read CT scans of the brain.

I really don't know what they all mean so I just gotta wait for my young stoner Indian doctor to call me back.



And this photo here is the last time you will ever catch me on a roller coaster again.

Writing to you from high-dosage Aleve and Valium land,
Nikki

fatiguée...

My two weeks of being the elder responsible cousin/auntie/translator was rather grueling. I swear the roller coasters thrashed my brain around in its skullcage a bit too much and I have had a headache for almost a week now.

But Yosemite Sam and Foghorn were there to catch me so I'll be alright.

La petite française est bien partie aujourd'hui. Moi je ne peux pas imaginer être parent d'un teenager de cette époque de tous les devices éléctroniques. Les texts, SMS, les sites web, les portables, les appareils-photos, les Nintendo DS...c'est trop pour un jeune esprit!

More stories to come....

Bonne nuit.

NYC sous la pluie....

It rained every day for one week straight.

I reckon the theme of this trip was 'No Plans Allowed.' I had plans to spread out a picnic blanket in Central Park and work on my novel. I had plans to ride the Cyclone at Coney Island. I had plans to take the bus to Atlantic City to win one million dollars.

The morning of Atlantic City, Ryan bro-bro and I woke up early and headed to the cornershop to board our bus with the old gamblers. We even had matching outfits that day and were looking forward to finding gaudy sparkling Atlantic City visors for a thousand more photo opportunites of sequined pizazz. But the owner found us outside and told us there was a 'problem' and that we needed to hightail it down to 179th and Broadway to catch the bus. We hopped on the subway, never a thought of discouraging words passing though our minds, and found our fellow travelers waiting outside the Dominican cornershop.

When the bus driver arrived, there was a long pause as we saw him walking back and forth through the tinted windows of the bus and rearranging passengers. He opened the doors with a look of discern on his face and announced, "I have some really bad news. I can only take four of you. There are only four seats left."

There were about eight pushy old ladies who shoved up close to him and he was forced to select the Biggest Looking Spenders.

A big old New York City Waaaaaaaaaah, waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah seemed to rattle the George Washington Bridge and Ryan and I hung our heads low and shuffled into the cornershop for our $34 refund.

Regardless of losing out on my millions, I managed to have a grand old time anyway. I'm a fly-be-the-pant-of-my-seats kinda traveler anyway and it's all part of the big adventure of life, n'est-ce pas?

Some highlights included:

* August Osage County, a play originally from Chicago's Steppenwolf, starring Phylicia Rashad. Wonderful performances, though it's closing in two weeks.

*Vieux Farka Toure at the Highline Ballroom. A spirited Malian guitarist, son of Ali Farke Toure. If you have an opportunity to see an African performance, I guarantee you spirits will be lifted. They may sing of sad topics but rarely will you find a minor key.

*Screening of a Youssou N'Dour documentary "I Bring What I Love." A very important film for all Westerners to see...follows his journey of pushing boundaries in Senegal for singing about his Sufi-Muslim beliefs and proceeding to win a Grammy.

*Walking across the George Washington Bridge at night in the wind and rain singing Bon Jovi as we entered New Jersey.

*Attending the Mermaid Parade at Coney Island.

*Endless wandering.

Then I come home to Michael Jackson mania. Regardless of your opinions of how his life became a farce of the media, what a spirit. I hope they bring him back home to Gary. Build a new Graceland there.

Back to work....

Packin' my bags...

New York City will be New Yuck City as my Gruesomes family*
raincloud follows me out east. But I shall prevail. If I could just
figure out how to pack my funky rainboots without having to check a damn bag...

Got the newly refurbished Mac laptop to transport with me
this time around so here's to some happy writings...soft breezes of nutty observation... and happy travels...

à bientót


* Refers to the Addams Family/Munsters-esque version of the creepy neighbors in the Flinstones.

Angling for an Angle

as I take a break this Sunday from freeze-drying my winter clothes , I find myself in a pensive mood....contemplating everything from an aching hip to work to deciding if i really want to hear Iggy Pop chante en francais.

Comme d'habitude, I'm all over the place.

It would be incredible to make a living from my creative energies, or at least I would think that to be true. But then again I look at the implications of adding 'business' to any kind of pleasure or hobby and the outcome, I would suspect, might be anything but joyful.

Do you ever watch that Simon Schama's Power of Art show on PBS? I look at our contemporary, lightning-speed society and I wonder where future masterpieces may be found. It's hard to say. What is fleeing from us now? The high cost of mega-wattage, picture-perfect celebrity or the slow-cooked souls standing in dim corners with empty pockets and displaced talent?

Too much to contemplate on a dreary June afternoon in the big gray city. I leave you with a youtube clip. The ballad of an unfortunate Extra, bemusing David Bowie into song. Bwahahaha....

as summer rolllllllls in....

tired. getting old. can't keep up.

but i love it. arthritic knee and all.

-little brother arrived tuesday and we surprised the whole hoosier clan. i have a newfound love for SURPRISES. i want to work them in more often into the rigmarole of life.

-saw Arabian Nights at Lookingglass Theatre. as usual, Mary Zimmerman makes theatre a painting-come-to-life. but I have to wonder, WhAt WaS wItH the FaRt JoKes?

-waited on John Hughes at work. I was like, 'Whatza happenin' hot stuff?' and he gestured his hands into L-shapes as if they were camera shots angling my face and pitched an idea to me about Pretty In Pink 2. don't tell Mr. T the husband but he does kinda resemble Duckie in that certain light....

-headed back to NYC in a few weeks. I plan to ride roller coasters, go to Coney Island Freak Shows, the circus, roller skating, walk across the Brooklyn Bridge, win a million dollars or two in Atlantic City and kick off my summer righteously in the three new pairs of shoes I bought last week.

-my little 14 year old cousin is coming to stay with me in July. from where? FRANCE! she doesn't speak english so je crois que nous serions attachees aux hanches. just too bad i don't have any vacation time left or much of a staff to cover.........

crrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeak <-----that's the sound of my old lady knee. another wild Friday night dans la vie fabuleuse de Nikki....

R.I.P. Marley 1993-2009

He was the silliest lil boy kitty. "Ask my older brother about his cat."

This little fuzzy outgoing black cat followed one of my brothers back to a party after leaving a bar and slept on his chest all night. The next morning when I awoke, still finishing up high school at the time, my brother comes in my room....Nikki, want a kitty?

The street kitty used to hang around McDonalds in our hometown where he was fed cheeseburger scraps and therefore went crazy anytime he thought he smelled Macdo. He was terrified of brooms and thunderstorms. He had a thick thick thick coat and when he would groom himself sometimes the gray hairs got stuck in his mouth so it looked like he had a little old man kitty beard.

Was he named for Ziggy or Bob? We don't really know. We just knew he was happy like a reggae song.

Marley never got along with the kitty I already adopted, Minga (1992-2005) so he stayed at my parents' house until just this last Tuesday where he died in the company of his human Granny and BooBoo, another black cat who traveled in the carnival before landing on the Indiana homestead.

RIP little Marley. The funny lil cubby/kitty all stuffed with fluff. Sweet sweet lil boy he was....

pulling a Madonna

Well, not THAT Madonna. Ca serait sacrilege!

But what I mean is that I am reinventing myself.

In a small way.

Kinda.

Well, it's more of the journey, I suppose, so it's not a Reinvention.

I am GOING BACK TO SCHOOL! Over the next few weeks I will map out the Big Plan. Going slowly, semester by semester, but I am moving into a new field of work.

It's such a lengthy, cumbersome, problematic, HAYWIRE kind of territory, but all the more reason for me to pitch in a helping hand.

The rehabilitation of those in crisis mode.

I refuse to say 'mental health,' because I firmly believe that EVERY SINGLE HUMAN BEING has an ounce of mental crises at some point in his or her life. If one cannot confess to this statement, then one is a liar.

I have been spending days with Grandmere. She is still frail. Was not healing from a back surgery and now going back in for another hip surgery. Her spirits are down. She does not want to talk about everything. But I love her. And I understand her....



My grandmere told me she started to look forward to going to the shelter during class when Air Raids alarmed because one of her older classmates used to play Blue Danube on the piano...

Bob Ross Days

The husband finished training in his new job and therefore is settled into his 3-12am shift.

I don't see much of him. For awhile. It's a lot to get used to.

Cooking for one, hanging out alone, sitting on the bus alone. Again.

But in the big grand scheme of things, more people are roaming out there alone than we probably estimate. I notice patterns in the behavior of several of my regular customers, and even among the folks who seemingly have incredibly active social lives. They tell me all of these wonderful grand plans and plentitude of activities to keep themselves busy, and I listen and listen and listen. "Really?" I think to myself....

I suppose for those with children this concept of being 'alone' is alien. To know you have an extension of your self, your creation, breathing life and looking always in your direction...perhaps solitude becomes a thing of the past. I do not know. Does it?

I look at my cat and she seems to say, 'Oh. Hey Mom,' as she slithers back under the bed.

But I know that I have overcome enormous struggles and have learned to cope with doubt, isolation, and all the nastiness that life's difficulties bring forth and I am stronger and wiser for it.


"I have my books
And my poetry to protect me;
I am shielded in my armor,
Hiding in my room, safe within my womb.
I touch no one and no one touches me.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

And a rock feels no pain;
And an island never cries."
-Simon & Garfunkel

In these times of 'isolation,' for lack of better word, I do turn to certain figures for inspiration. Particularly when you've gone through your phone list and left about ten messages for others who are busy out there doing other things.

See, when Bob Ross found himself alone with a canvas and a low budget television camera, he might talk aloud to himself and say something like this:

"Little more black, little more blue. And we'll just put that in using little crisscross strokes or--or little X's, whatever you want to call them. Whatever."

And in the course of 20 minutes, he'd have a new landscape to reflect upon.

What a beautiful man he was....

I want to get out my supplies now and invent.

"There."

il était une fois...

Je vais faire mes exercises ici. Je n'ai pas beaucoup d'occasion pour utiliser mon français, sauf les petits messages aux familles francaises par couriel. J'ai essayé un travail pour un bureau qui specialise en voyage european par train mais c'était quelque chose qui me fait vomir dans l'esprit...repondrant aux appels en anglais, en francais, en québecois. Peut-être si j'essayerai un peu plus fort le travail aurait un peu plus facile avec chaque semaine. Mais le téléphone? C'est trop difficile à m'expliquer sans l'usage des mains, le regard sur le visage, la langue de corps si tu veux. Et sans le mot ècrit, les accents ouvrent la porte d'une salle des gros problemes.

C'est dommage que mon pere et mes tantes n'apprendent jamais la langue de leur mère. Mais je comprende la situation trop bien d'être une jeune femme toute seule dans une nouvelle terraine. Je ne peux pas imaginer tout ça avec un mari, une grande famille avec les soeurs qui ont le même age de ma mère et les petits enfants. C'est le shocke culturelle...bien sûr. C'est normale. Et je pense que c'est quelque chose qui doit être manditoire. Les lois d'éxperience nous enseignent l'empathie.

Ma grandmère connait un univers d'histoires de sa vie, et je passe chaque mercredi avec elle en ésperant qu'elle me raconter. C'est le focus de mon nouveau projet écrit. Peut-être le plus important de ma vie. Et la sienne.

Et maintenant, en anglais...

I am doing my lil exercises here. I don't have a lot of opportunity to use my french, except for those little email exchanges with my french family. I once tried a job in an office specializing in European train travel but it was something that made my head vomit, answering calls (with one-hour hold times) in English, French and Quebecois Canadian French. Maybe if I had stayed with it a little bit longer it all would have become a lot easier with practice each week. But the telephone? It's much too hard to express myself without the use of my hands, facial expressions, or any kind of body language. And without having the written word in place, those spoken accents open the door to a whole roomful of problems.

It's a pity my dad or my aunts didn't learn the language of their mother. But I understand all too well that situation of being a young woman in a new, foreign land all alone. I couldn't image having done that with a husband ...and a big family with sisters the same age of my mother...and children. It's cultural shock, a normal human condition. I think immersing onself like that into a cultural shellshock ought to be manditory in life. The laws of experience teach empathy.

My grandmère holds an entire universe in her life story, and I've been spending each Wednesday with her hoping she will tell me one more and one more and one more piece of it. It's the focus of my new writing project. Maybe the most important one of my life. And of hers.

quelque chose charmant

Black Orpheus.

not only does this movie make me want to visit Brazil, but it also makes me want to learn Portugese AND join in a samba school...

musical interlude

one of my favorite songs of my life.
clever youtube interpretation.

Philadelphia cont.

It was a whirlwind day and we squeezed in as much as humanly possible in an 11 hour period before our bus took us back to 42nd St.

Philadelphia Museum of Art had some great pieces in its collection. A quick run whizzing past the Impressionists
galleries complemented all the stuff I've seen over and over back home at the Art Institute and glided through in Paris. Lots of wacky Marcel Duchamp pieces. And my favorite silly painting...that Joan Miro 'Dog Barking at the Moon.' I don't know why I love that one so much.



Of course it is common tourist tradition to run up the steps on the museum à la Rocky. Behold the bronze statue in the upper right photo. I bet that little girl posing never even saw the movie. Funny what statues make people do.

I would definitely go back to Philadelphia. It was a strange city to classify, as we had discussed with some student friends of my brothers over dinner that night. It has its history, but then it felt like Detroit in some parts. It had that fantastic food market (what was that called??), where you could order Amish-prepared apple dumplings or BBQ or, of course, cheesesteaks. But then it had as many homeless beggars as Chicago does, yet in a more concentrated area. I could only imagine Philadelphia's homeless population carries an overt disgust for its anthem of 'Brotherly Love' day in and day out. When traveling, there's always a lot to be told from the eyes of the city's homeless...

note to self: must watch that tv show people are always telling me to watch 'It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia.'

Philadelphia

I had never been to Philadelphia before this trip. It awoke an urge to go visit our nation's historical towns again, most definitely. I was 4 when I did Washington, DC, but I sadly remember a Burt Reynolds film being shot in my grandparents' condo complex more than I remember being inside the White House...

Here I am in the wind (again) in front of Independence Hall, where the Constitution of the United States was signed in case you don't remember.

It's also two days before my hair was chopped by a student at bumble & bumble hair school in Manhattan. He did a good job, but I can't get it to look as cool as he did that day so I guess you'll have to wait for a shot of the new 'do...

Anyway, back to our nation's history.

Over there is the Liberty Bell. They had a strange modern museum building built around it, not at all like in Back to the Future. You have to go through intense security to get inside. Ryan (my brother) and I stood around it for a few minutes and had the giggles because we were the only blatant Americans standing there in the item of purest essence of our nation's history. There were a group of Indian families posing for group portraits in front of the Bell, some Greeks (I believe that was their language) doing some posed gestures for the camera, and a Chinese bus tour group making their way in as we squeezed our way out. It was interesting to experience. Here stood my brother and I, each 1/4 French, 1/8 Osage Native American, 1/8 Irish and 50% American Mutt, next to all of these other global identities. That truly is America in a nutshell.

More Philadelphia to come...

New York City, NYC, pretty mean when it wants to be...

it was a cold and blurry trip.

squeezed a lot in. but MAN was it windy. i felt like the animated Addams Family in an episode of the Flintstones, where the weather just seemed to follow them everywhere they went.

here I am posing near little brother's place on the upper upper west side, George Washington Bridge behind me.

some highlights? art museums, touring our nations history in Philadelphia, FOOOOD, the Strand bookstore, and the girl on the subway.

Ryan and I were headed home for the night on the A train, stuffed full of assorted cakes and ethnic meals and windblown beyond recognition. I glanced over to my brother sitting on my left and caught wind of a knitting project a few seats over, across the way. Knitting always catches my eye because I don't know how some knitters and crocheters can detail such intricacies on mass transit.

I looked up from the piece she was knitting and looked at the woman. I had to try and restrain myself with giggles. At least in the beginning. She was wearing a hat, that she obviously knit. It was complete with cat ears on the top. She was a tall and lanky figure, sitting with her legs twisted and intertwined with each other yet stretching into two seats. She had a pointy chin, thick glasses, and was holding her knitting needles about two inches from her eyes with a strange smirk on her face. Her handbag also had a cat's face crocheted on its front flap, resting on her sprawling pose.

I kept peeking back over to her to catch a better glimpse of her project, until my little brother caught me mid-turning-of-the-head and did a knowing gesture with his eyebrows and I just LOST IT!

It was at that moment I realised she was knitting a sweater for her CAT! I bursted out in laughter so hard and bellyaching and it wouldn't stop!

I quieted down after about a minute straight and breathed deeply.

Then I glanced back over and it started up again, this time lasting about 5 subway stops.

I just laughed and laughed and laughed until I was lightheaded and dizzy and I'd have to catch my breath.

Colombus Circle, expressing past the Central Park stops, 168th...the laughter just kept coming and coming and coming and I couldn't stop myself!

I thought the paramedics were gonna have to come and rescue me from asphyxiation!

I couldn't look at her.

So many character developments were racing through my mind.

She was like a character Kristen Wiig would have created on SNL.

She was the epitome of what happens when you live alone in a big city for much too long.

I was envisioning her having tea parties with her cats in a one-room Washington Heights studio apartment.

All I wish is that I would have been able to control my laughter long enough to snap a shot of her. I hadn't laughed like that in I-can't-even-remember-how-long-ago.

i love this song

when i first heard it, i asked Mr. T (my new reference to the Husband, I've decided) if it was an old Patti Smith song. Then perhaps I thought of the Violent Femmes next time I heard it. No, someone new. Old sound. Love it.

That is all for today.

Somedays, all ya need is a song.

a few days until New York City...

My younger brother has settled into NYC life over the past few years an has seemed to adapt well to it.

I, on the other hand, did not find any sort of peace and harmony to the land when I set off for its landscape over the years. At one point in my very early twenties I even walked around with a stack of resumes, applying for jobs in Manhattan, just to see if something would 'click' for me there.

I found minor frustrations around every other corner, and while they were minor, I ended each day feeling agitated. The turnstile not being calibrated properly so I lost a subway ride on my pass and had to either wait fifteen minutes or go buy another fare. My hotel reservation being overbooked and having to find a friend in Brooklyn for a last-minute place to sleep. Holding on for dear life with a stack of suitcases on a bus to LaGuardia. Ordering a lunch in a busy restaurant and not having any place to sit and eat it properly except out in the cold, walking aimlessly. A jerky shuttle driver dropping me off five blocks from where I needed to meet a friend and then giving me wrong directions as I lugged my suitcase.

But just as minor frustrations occur here and there in any sort of life in any kinda landscape, I still enjoy going back for a visit. I have experienced some equally amazing moments and observed some wonderful sights each visit.

1. Three African gentlemen were carrying their belongings in large cloth sacks and just walking around with wide eyes and dropped jaws inhaling the atmosphere as they stared up to the skyscrapers as they witnessed something never before seen in their new journey in a new land.

2. Being on a 'guest list' for Joey Ramone's 50th birthday party days after his passing and a Little Debbie food fight at the finale, cream-filling splattered all over my hair.

3. A cab driver getting lost in Brooklyn and turning off the meter to find the best route for his weary passenger. Also waiting for me to be let in the building to make sure I'd be alright.

4. Lengthy conversations with strangers in a bar about the drive from the East Coast to the smokestack filled industrial wastelands of Indiana before you see the Chicago skyline.

5. The kindness of the food service employee at the Statue of Liberty cafeteria.

6. Walking around Immigration Hall at Ellis Island.

7. Trying on a crazy dress with cowgirls imprinted all over I could never afford at a cute boutique run by two Japanese girls...

Anyhoo, I am headed to NYC again for an extended weekend later in the week and I look forward to future discoveries.

hibrrrrrrnating some more

Oh the cold weather.

It gets the best of me. I never have two consecutive days off so I try to make the best time of my free days. But that dang Chicago cold!

Attempted to write some more. Fueled by coffee and warm fuzzy slippers and itchy brain cells, I 'vomited' on paper some more. Kind of like I'm doing now. Fruitless. Perhaps I need to re-read Stephen King's On Writing. Whatever happened to my copy?

There is a tale in me that I want to tell. Or as some say, perhaps everyone's got a book in 'em. What carries the stories that we hear in our lifetimes? The relatedness of our journeys? The fantasy? The hook? The character development? The dilemma? The unique voice?

I draw from a unique set of experiences. I have this itch to explain them and paint them and share them, but they will not hold any meaning to me unless they are understood. Well, not even understood, but I do ask that they have the ability to connect to the reader. I try out some of these stories/experiences in spoken stories with my husband and a few select friends, and the reaction I get is not one of connection. "Do you understand? Does this make sense?" And the answer is always various stages of 'No.' If I can't allow them to make sense for those close to me, how do I know what connection lies beyond?

I once tried my hand participating in an art show. I don't think it's fair to label myself an artist because I do not possess the God-given gift that others do. But as a creative person, I wanted to challenge myself in a new way. It was a staff show that took place at a gallery in Pilsen, joined together by my coworkers at the time of Museum of Contemporary Art. The pieces included installations, paintings, drawings, videos, you name it - coming from all levels of talent. It was a nerve-wracking experience for me. But I did it.

My piece was something I came up with as a means of connecting a conversation with other artistic mediums. Being a fan of music and such a lover of words, I often wonder what stories lie behind the reality of a song. I scoured thrift shops for the perfect worn-out stereo speaker surrounded with the perfect type of wood to which I could burn the words. I skipped an Easter Sunday with the family and sat in my old apartment by the lake listening to music on the radio as my woodburning wand spent 15 plus hours engraving a message across the broken-down sound system. The message was as ephemeral as a three-minute song and doesn't even bear repeating at this point, but it was clear to at least one person.

Someone sitting at the gallery relayed the message to me that a man came over to her to comment specifically on how much he enjoyed my piece. All of those works in that space and he chose to comment on mine and mine alone.

That's all that mattered to me, especially in remembrance of everything that had happened a few weeks later in my life.

Maybe one day I'll muster up the courage to try it all again.

hibernating

slow news day. again. tried to sit down to work on Great American Novel and nothing but blah blah blah flowed from within today. bitter cold is back. leftovers for lunch today. coffee in hand. kitty sleeping under bed. hubby working all day, open to close.

could talk about billy corgan, my new customer. or slumping music sales. but blah blah blah.

when it's a slow news day, i whisk myself back to France.

Journal entry from Fall 2005, my last Parisian excursion. new commentary following.

aie aie aie
such a strange time to be here in paris. globalisation slammed right up in your face. fires burning. social unrest. capitalist hierarchies. wealthy nations not comprehending why third-world natives want to grow in lands of opportunity. i guess this is it. the future. no more hope, just a lot of war blowing up all over the planet. this can't be it. this can't be our reality. somewhere there's gotta be a light.

when i get back stateside i think we need to band together and spread some love, kids. where are all the hippies? where's all the action? did we get lazy and just decide to spew our opinions on the internet? there is a big friggin world out there and, babies, i'm right in the middle of it, and i don't really think it's time to laugh and fantasize and play in imagination-land anymore. America is no longer disneyland, Wile E. Coyote has finally caught Roadrunner, and Starbucks has invaded Paris. The world is morphing back to a Pangean state, but it's people are not. I like to laugh and roll around in the balls at Chuck E. Cheese and ride bumper cars at the fair just like everyone else, but it ain't funny anymore...

I've been sitting on the steps of the Parisian opera house each nite before I catch my train back to the fiery suburbs, just watching the world pass before my eyes, and after a million Americans stop by to ask me directions to the Eiffel Tower, I'm tired. Really friggin tired.

By the way, I need a job. Anybody hiring? I'll go anywhere.

---

I found your journal (from Amanda's) and was just catching up on your great adventures! You are having the wonderful time you knew you would and learning more about your soul - that is a good thing! I am sure you will find just the right time to start writing. You can be the female (hah!) David Sedaris of Paris. Maybe you should find him to see if he needs an assistant? That would be a great job for you. Good luck with the adventure and I will keep looking every day for more fun. Take care - Love Teresa

Several years later, and with a new president in tow, I feel rejuvenated. Running off to France for five months is not an option at this time, but participating in Obamarama global overhaul is.

Inspiring.

connective tissues

In the spirit of subconscious signs that I am to follow without speaking of (my secret new year's resolution which I just broke), I am finding lots of resonance in simply enjoying moments. Any film I watch, any new piece of music I discover, I am allowing it to resonate, sans critique, sans comparison. Just enjoying for the sake of enjoying. Certainly there will be things that don't jive, people who don't float my boat, anger that I will find repulsive, unneccessary angst, but I will quickly move on and seek the next moment in my path.

Am I on a path? Certainly I must be. We all must be.

A year and a half ago, I spent a few days in the hospital delivering an almost five-month old fetus. The extremes of emotion were relentlessly brutal. What was John Lennon saying...life is what happens when you're busy making other plans? I was preparing to take that journey toward parenthood, to step away from Self, to devote my world to this new creation and I was neck-deep making those plans.

Then death stops you in your tracks.

And you return to the Self to deal with it.

We never found a scientific explanation for the loss, so I turn to the Spirit to duke things out. When you turn to the Spirit, see, you no longer have to deal with the Self.

I was in the hospital two other times prior to the miscarriage. And the focus at that time was a psychiatric focus where I was forced to turn away from the Spirit and deal with the Self. Because I was told the Self was not well. I often wonder what those 'friends' who veered me down that road are up to.

These were all very strange times in my life. And they seem like a distant dream I once had. They don't even feel like they happened.

But the point of all this is that we are all searching. Or rather, those of us who are truly ALIVE are still searching. This is only further demonstrated to me when a big rock star comes in and buys Paulo Coelho and self-help spiritual guides from me.

I often wonder where my focus should lie in my Great American Novel I need to chisel away at. Maybe the topic of miscarriage is a journey I was guided to write about?

coming into focus

I envy those friends of mine who knew early in life what their calling might be. Particularly those of the creative persuasion, and how productive their hobbies and passions actually turn out.

While dawdling in a little bit of everything, or as I like to say 'Jill of all trades, master of nothing,' I want to fine tune all of my interests into one sweeping finale. I am not a photographer, I am not a sports fanatic. I can knit the most minimum of all basics, paint when I feel inspired, play a few songs on the piano and strum some sounds on the guitar. I truly enjoy writing, but have been having major struggles finding things to write ABOUT.

On a day like today, where the snow and antibiotics have kept me indoors baking banana bread and zoning out on television, all I can do is sit and watch the thermometer fall and rise to zero.

So my grand focus is a rather broad one. I just want to tell stories.

Stories.

Bonjour 2009

Another year dead and gone. 2008 was a quick year, it seemed. It started off with a Vegas wedding, continued through last winter with long work hours, awoke in spring with more work. Summer lent itself to a few outdoor music and food festivals, September allowed for a quick week in Florida and the year rounded out with Chicago politics on a global stage.

And snow.

This photo was shot just outside my home in the early evening of a wintry blast of a storm just before Christmas. The snowfall, in its moment of conception in this local realm surrounding me, is certainly heavenly in its own right. The calamity of life lessens, the air seems to whisper softly and everything looks gorgeous.

We won't talk about what happens over the course of the days following a heavy snowfall.... of the polluted black snow mounds, slush, and potholes. That would ruin the mystical quality of the winter songs Mother Nature sings.

(But it suffices to say it doesn't last long.)

2009 begins another year of hard work. For most everyone, it seems. The economy is what it is. I feel a serious tone almost everywhere I turn, which may not be such a bad thing after all. I have always lived a frugal lifestyle, as has my husband, so this isn't any new contender in the fight. But I do anticipate a sort of change among people. Will it be like the snowfall? Peaceful in its meager beginnings? But leaving behind a very difficult and ugly aftermath?

Only time will tell, I suppose.

Some Bests of 2008? Getting married, Slumdog Millionaire, Obamapalooza, Paul Weller's 22 Dreams album, a customer stepping up to pay as I was ordering my lunch, getting back in touch with old friends, Lucinda Williams' Little Honey, several Netflix finds and a new television set.

It's the little things, you know?