Realization

35 miles NW of Fredericksburg
45 miles NE of Charlottesville
63 miles SE of Winchester
70 miles SW of Washington, DC

Patron of all, belonging to none.

The Summer of Divorce Court

Wow. This photograph was taken on July 28, 2004. That was seven years ago! It's really hard for me to believe that the Summer of Divorce Court was that long ago.

What was the Summer of Divorce Court? It was a magical time in the DC/Maryland area when young punk, ska, pop, and hardcore bands all covered a song by The AK's called Divorce Court. The song itself is a fantastic sing-along punk anthem with definitive Washington, DC flavor; it's about how the band would rather watch Divorce Court than see the Redskins suck. I'm not exactly sure who said it back then -- it may have been David "Spoonboy" Combs from The Max Levine Ensemble -- but it was proclaimed that everyone that plays that song is transformed into the AK's. No matter what house show I went to that summer, The AK's always played. There was always someone there to pick up the drum sticks and start shouting, "I love Divorce Court!"

The AK's played a reunion show last night at St. Stephen's Episcopal church in Columbia Heights and well, it was every bit as bittersweet and beautiful as it should have been; hot, sweaty, and full of all those sing-along punk anthems which I had nearly forgotten about. Like always, the magical part came at the end. The AK's played Divorce Court and then we all became the AK's. Instruments and equipment were being taken away as Spoonboy led a consecutive five rounds of Divorce Court. It was an absolutely silly thing but so gratifying that I never wanted it to end. Even when it did, the crowd started chanting, "IF YOU'RE NOT PUNISHED, YOU WILL BE PUNISHED" (another song) as they exited the building.

Anyhow, I'm thankful for the nostalgia opportunity.

If you've never heard Divorce Court, here is a version found on TMLE's website:

DIVORCE COURT


Long live the AK's!

Current State of Affairs

I'm just chilling with KitKit in Takoma Park.

Bliss

post-earthquake, pre-hurricane comfort food

Dates and Death Threats

Three weeks ago, I decided I wanted to start dating. You know; go out with a guy for dinner, drinks, a show, or whatever to chit-chat and hopefully make a new friend to hang out with (and maybe more). Of course, I'm geographically removed from single folks my age that share a common culture so I've gotta use the internet.

Yeah. Wow. Forget notions of attractiveness or compatibility; I didn't realize this was going to a needle-in-the-haystack endeavor just to find someone that doesn't have a case of the crazies...

Date #1 seemed like a decent normal guy. Early 30s, educated, intelligent, stable job and living situation, into normal guy stuff, and pretty cute. We had drinks and made small talk though I felt incredibly self-conscious because he didn't have much to say and I tend to fill the void by babbling on about grad school and job-hunting. We ran into some of his friends which eased the self-consciousness; they were interesting, talkative people. At the end of the evening, we walked on the mall and this guy just....snapped. He quickly mumbled that he didn't ever walk this way and that we should turn around. He started acting crazy and when I questioned him, he was mean and told me nothing was wrong. He finally admitted that he saw his ex but by that time things were too awkward to mend. I wouldn't have had a problem if he had just said, "Hey, my ex is over there; let's just turn around." But this was a full on freak out; his whole body reacted. He started walking funny. I thought he might cry or fall down or do something else equally creepy-spontaneous. I told him he could call me again if he wanted but I wouldn't be calling him.

Date #2 takes the cake. This guy had all sorts of red flags on his OKCupid profile but I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt because he was assertive enough to contact me and I was absolutely certain he'd be more talkative than the last guy. I meet this guy at his building in Arlington and when I offered to drive us in my car he says he'd go get his weed. I told him no; I already stated that I don't smoke in my emails to him and that I didn't want marijuana in my car.

We had a pleasant drive through the city and he babbled about a million different things, changing his mind frequently in order to agree with me. We had pie at a boutique shop in DC then went used book shopping at thrift stores. I bought a book then sat on a couch and read it while he browsed and talked on his phone for a ridiculously long time. I finally asked him if we could go and as he walked out of the store, I made a comment about him not buying anything and he told me that he'd just get the books that he wanted from the library.

We drove to a nice park in the city and put out a picnic blanket. As he went to sit down, books tumbled out of his pockets. He has stolen three books from the Salvation Army; two science fiction novels and a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure book, each priced $1.47. I was beyond angry. I lectured him on stealing books from the fucking Salvation Army and he just looked at the ground and spoke softly telling me that he didn't steal them, that he would never do that, that he bought them when I wasn't looking, that he used his card to buy them, that he threw away his receipt, that he wasn't lying, etc. I brought up our conversation about him not buying anything and saying he would go to the library and he tried to convince me we didn't have that conversation, that we had that conversation at a different store, that he didn't know why he said that, etc. Then I railed on him for lying and he tried to change the subject by asking me to play a word game. I sat silent for a moment then told him that we were going to go back to the store so he could either return the books or pay for them. Still hanging his head and speaking softly, he said he was going to walk to the metro. He still maintained that he was innocent and never got mad at me for accusing him; instead he said, "At least let me carry the picnic blanket to your car for you. Why does this always happen to me? I hope you know I'm not crazy or schizophrenic or anything like that." I told him that I didn't think that; I just think he's a liar and a thief.

But I changed my mind; he's completely crazy. Two weeks later, he sent me this message:

I was dying for a chance to tell you this and, after building a whole hateful tirade up in my head, it all pretty much accumulated to this:
I've met a lot of people, and you're the dumbest fucking cunt of them all; even if you were hot at *all*, it would not justify the injustice of your existence. And I hope you know I saved your life, by not going with you to your car, because I restrained myself very, very, very hard to not beat the ever-living shit out of you.

Date #3 never actually happened. The guy sent me a string of emails from his smartphone saying he was at a bar a few blocks away but couldn't find the spot I asked him to meet me. He claimed to have walked up and down the mall four times after I gave him directions then decided he was too tired to be out and he'd just go home. Totally annoying bullshit.


If you've got any advice on how to meet men that are not completely batshit insane or just plain dumb, let me know. If you are a man that is not completely batshit insane or just plain dumb, well, give yourself a pat on the back. Then call me.

Buena Vista, VA

Beuna Vista, VA from behind the wheel

I used to threaten to run away to West Virginia to write a novel from the bits and pieces I know about the lives of rural, suburban, and urban people. No more; from now on, I am threatening to move to Buena Vista.

Seven Snakes On Saturday

I've seen snakes at work before but last week I flipped over a rock and found a Surprise Snake. It was pretty much the most exciting thing to happen to me all summer! (This is seriously what my life has come to.) I've been talking about this incident nonstop and suddenly it hit me; I dig snakes. They're just.......really freaking awesome. I mean, they're kind of scary and wiggly and they like hanging out on/under rocks. I'm totally down with that.

Last Saturday, I went walking at Natural Bridge and decided to document my day in snakes. Here they are:

A Transparent Juxtaposition of Life and Debt

Friday, July 29th, 2011, 3:00PM - I’m at Jill’s house. Jill peers over my shoulder and stares at the computer screen for a moment then says, “Let’s sign up for a credit card and rack up a pizza debt!”

I currently owe a total of $1,387.13. That’s all.

Jill announces that it’s “pizza time” and we sit on the couch stuffing our faces and half-heartedly watching RuPaul’s Drag U. I talk wistfully about that job at the children’s museum that I applied for. Did I say too much when I introduced myself to the director in passing? Oh, God. What was I wearing? No, that’s a silly thing to worry about. I had kids with me. She’ll understand. If I had that job, I could live downtown and walk to work every day and I’d be skinny again! Ooh, or maybe I could learn to ride a bike in the city…

Jill tells me she’s dirty and I say that I am too. She says no, not that kind of dirty. Then she explains that last night at 2AM, she had sex with Andrew in a park while I was sleeping. I am mildly annoyed. Who does that? Aren’t we too old for that? I change the subject to debt and she doesn’t have much to say.

There are two reasons I don’t have a lot of debt. The first reason is that I am poor. I filled out the FAFSA form and flunked out of community college my first year on the government’s dime. Then I moved back home and worked full time making eight bucks an hour at a call center job for a year. Then I filled out the FAFSA form again; grants took care of most of it and I was able to pay the rest. I worked part time at my department store high school job for two years while I got my associate degree in Liberal Arts. Then I moved to Philadelphia where I worked at an after school program, as a telemarketer, and a photography intern for a blog and a music venue.

Jill and I head to Baltimore. There’s an Alphabet Bombers reunion show at the Sidebar. There’s also an anime convention so I know my college friends are in town. We try to listen to Save Ferris in the car but the disk is so scratched that there’s no use. Instead, we listen to Eastern Standard Time. We skip all of the songs without words because what’s the point if you can’t sing along? I realize that I am happy because it’s just so much better to have two people singing in the car than just one. I tell Jill this and she agrees.

The second reason I don’t have a lot of debt is because my grandmother took it for me. I fell down some steps and broke my arm pretty bad. I ended up having to quit my jobs and move back in with my mom so someone could take care of me. I had to have surgery and months of physical therapy; I couldn’t move my whole upper body for a while. I didn’t have insurance so for months, I would receive bills that were impossible to pay. I tried my best to fill out the paperwork for the individual parties but it was just too much. I came to a point where I would just lay in bed and cry because I couldn’t deal with it. That’s when my grandmother put the bills in her name and started paying them. She’s still paying them and I feel guilty.

We stand on the sidewalk outside the bar, just the two of us. All around us are little circles of people; some we know, some we don’t. None of them talk to us. We can look at each other and know that the other is thinking about what it means to belong to a community. We start talking about “the old days”. About DCska shows. About before Dan died. Jill tells me that when she used to go to shows back then, she felt like her presence was always appreciated. I tell her that back then, I used to walk into a room and everyone would hug me. We both start talking about my 21st birthday party. Everyone was there! We drank milkshakes at Fuddruckers in Chinatown, Mrs. Jones brought me a pie, the Pietasters played a surprise set, the Debonaires and the Ready Steady Go! played…

The Ready Steady Go! was Dan’s band. There is an awkward silence as we both struggle to hold back tears. Jill tells me that she didn’t know how to deal with his cancer. She says she should have visited him but…..and there is more silence. She says you can’t even ask “how are you” because the answer is obvious. I tell her that I was upset because no one bothered to tell me how bad it was and that I was also angry at myself for being so wrapped up in my own life that I didn’t notice. We’re trying very hard not to cry out on the sidewalk in front of the punks, skinheads, and rockabilly girls but we fail. We cry.

After my arm healed, I tried to go back to Philadelphia but it didn’t work. I felt defeated and abandoned. I hid in my friend’s basement and cried for two weeks then went home and filled out a FAFSA form and took a year of business and marketing courses at community college while I figured out what to do next.

The Alphabet Bombers play. The skinheads roughhouse, we dance, I take photos. We smile at each other when we hear Rich talk in his throaty rockabilly voice. We wiggle our fingers at Alex during his guitar solos. We think Curt is cute but we assume he knows it and that makes him kind of a jerk. AJ stands in front of the stage with his arms crossed during the last song and we think he’s a jerk, too. Just like old times.

But also very different.

I applied to just one university; the cheapest, closest place where I could study marketing, communication, and nonprofits. I received full financial aid through FAFSA as well as a $5,000 scholarship. Between the two, that covered my entire tuition cost. I quit my job as a preschool teacher and moved to one of the richest counties in the nation where I paid $820/month for rent in a shared townhome within walking distance of the school. I took out $5,500 in loans to help pay for my initial living expenses. I completed university in a year and a half and was accepted into a nonprofit leadership graduate program where all students work research assistantships in their field.

Well, yeah. Of course I want things to be like they used to be. They just can’t, though. All the people have changed. Jill reminds me that Alex hasn’t changed. I agree but then remind her that he is married, makes a living doing art, and is much more social than he used to be. He has changed….for the better. Jill tells me when Dan got sick and the shows stopped happening, that’s when she turned to drugs. I tell her that I wish I could undo the social knowledge academia and living in the DC area gave me; I understood what it meant to make less than $30,000 in a year and I was obsessed with it. I told her that I know how much it costs to buy a house and that I want to buy one. I told her that I hated the fact that I felt like I needed more degrees in order to overcome the inferiority complex that college gave me. How do we get back to the way it felt when we went to shows? How do we get back to that sense of carefree-ness, community, and joy?

I moved home and worked as a nanny in the next town over. It felt so good to tell people that I was going to graduate school but day by day, I began to worry more and more. Funding will come in April, they’d say. No, wait. They’re announcing assistantships in May. Our departmental budget will be approved at the end of June. I went to orientation which was nothing more than a job interview in disguise. My peers were dressed in suits and came from jobs in Washington and New York. Others were fresh out of Americorps or the Peace Corps. My heart sank; I knew I couldn’t compete. Instead of giving up hope right then and there, I listened to my family, friends, and the people at the university; I believed them when they said there would be a job and funding for me. I bought a bike and put a down payment on the perfect place to live.

We call my college friends to hang out but they are too drunk or lazy to bother with us. I tell Jill that things changed after my last birthday. I felt unappreciated so I stopped calling. They never called me. It was awkward. Jill says she wants to go to a strip club. I say I don’t want to go without a guy but she pressures me into walking to Baltimore Street anyway. Men holler at her as if I’m invisible. A man in pink pants is speaking softly to her in Crazy John’s then hands her his cell phone and tells her to put her number in. I slap his hand away and yell at him. He curses at me and says he didn’t know that was my girl. I realize that I am the only white skinned person in the room and I am not invisible anymore.

Many men try to get Jill’s attention on the sidewalk. One succeeds. He tells her that Asian girls make a lot of money in the clubs. Jill says that she went to college. The man says that many of his girls are paying their way through college by dancing. Not even dancing! Hosting! They just get paid to sit there and talk to men. No dancing, no touching. As many drinks as you want, the bartender will take care of you. The girls make their own schedules; they come and go as they please. You wanna disappear for a month and come back? Fine. I see her eyes light up. I try to cover my annoyance with concern but there’s nothing I can say. He says his name is Mr. Hollywood and she programs his number into her phone.

The assistantship never came and neither did the funding. Administration wanted me to continue playing this little game telling me that I would probably get something once I started taking classes. Tuition and fees for the first year would cost around $40,000 and that’s not counting any sort of living expenses. There was no way I could do it; not only would I have a massive amount of debt for a NONprofit degree, but I would also risk having a graduate degree with no practical experience in the field. I called it off two weeks before I was supposed to move.

At age 27, I’m living with my mother in Culpeper, Virginia and working as a full time nanny. I apply for nonprofit and higher education jobs all the time but I haven’t had any luck. I’m paying $300-$400 per semester to take more marketing courses just for fun at the local community college. I’ve paid my loan down to $1,387.13 and hope to have $20,000 in the bank by next August for graduate school. If I don’t get a deal I like this time, I’m going to save for an additional year and buy a house. I feel as if I make the right decisions financially but as a result of not taking risks, I suffer socially.

On the way home, Jill tries to justify working at a strip club. I’m not sure what to say. Don’t you want something more than that? Don’t you want to learn and use skills? She tells me that she’s been a hostess and promo model before and she does use skills. I tell her that’s not what I mean. I try to make it clear that it’s not a moral thing but in my head I’m wondering if it is. I finally blurt out that I don’t want her relapsing; that she told me herself that sometimes she’s not sure if she does things because she wants to do them or if someone else wants her to do them. A strip club in Baltimore is not a good place for a recovering addict.

She changes the subject; asks if I want to talk about debt. I say yes. We make small talk about credit cards and then I ask her how much debt she has. She reluctantly tells me. Things are quiet for the rest of the ride home.

Things I Want To Learn About vs. Degrees I Want vs. Jobs I Want vs. Things I Am Incredibly Good At

Lately, I've come to think that these are all completely different things.

Digital Humanities is (are?) like a television show with really interesting characters. It's my favorite to watch because it's so highly visible. Accessible.

Public Policy is a bunch of white guys in suits that desperately need infiltration but like, I don't have enough money to join their ranks and I raise too much hell, anyway.

Cultural Studies is just stupid. It's not really stupid, I guess I am. I just feel like I have something to prove like a bratty little sister. I have no doubt I could get into the school that everyone else went to and I could find an interesting angle to study my boatload of interests from but like, that's a lot of trouble to go through just to prove my worthiness to a bunch of people that don't even have me on the radar. What? Do I magically think this degree will make them invite me out for drinks? They won't even answer my emails.

Higher Education Administration feels so much like getting a degree in order to get a job to get a different degree. Saying that makes it sound like just as noble an endeavor as the pop culture degree but the fact is that I have an administrative undergraduate degree, a higher education internship, I've applied to hundreds of higher ed jobs, I've read many books and websites on the subject, and frankly, I'm mad as hell. Being mad as hell just makes me want to work at the most privileged of universities just so I can FSU. (Of course, when I'm getting paid and going to school for free I'm much more likely to keep my mouth shut and be a nice person.)

I am NOT going to school to become a teacher. Similarly, I am NOT getting my CDA or a masters degree in anything that has to do with Early Childhood Education. Not, not, not, not, not! I love kids, I am amazing at teaching, whatever. Here's the deal: I need to not work solely with married women because it's depressing. Plus, I'd always be more interested in changing the rules and overthrowing the administration.

To be clear, I want to teach college, though. For fun.

I love taking marketing classes. I suppose I don't really need a degree in it because I don't particularly want a job in it but the subject matter is just so interesting. I'm at the point where I am confident that I could teach the courses much better than the people teaching me at the moment.

I'd really be interested in taking some more psychology courses and coupling them with business/economics/marketing courses and doing some sort of Behavioral Economics interdisciplinary degree. If I could then get a job teaching all of those things, I'd be very happy because those are interesting things I am enthusiastic about in the classroom.

Now I am remembering when Rob Gehl said to me with some degree of certainty that I should be studying Anthropology. Looking back, I now assume he said this because he recognized that I am nearly always more interested in the people and social structures rather than whatever it is I'm actually supposed to be doing. I've never taken an anthro course, though so I have no clue how that'd be.

If I'm being honest, all of the jobs I think I'd be really sincere about and good at, I'd need a degree in Social Work.

I want a degree in Nonprofit Management. I want it partially because I feel like I didn't actually learn anything about it in undergrad. "That's it? That's all you're gonna offer me?"

I've always hated the idea of doing research but now I desperately want to take a course in it just to prove I can do it. It never mattered until I saw that it made me unequal to educated people my age.

I would be genuinely happier at a small school in a rural area doing my program alongside working class people. I would feel better about myself in relation to others in an urban or suburban area at a larger school as long as I had funding. If I didn't have funding, I couldn't do it because I would a) be in massive debt and b) be really bitter about the fact that Miss Americorps over there got the assistantship and I did not. I just want to be a part of something, I just want to fit in with smart, hip people. I mean, that's the core of this whole damn thing. Maybe if I had a husband and a "group of friends", I'd go get that teaching degree and happily follow the rules because, much like Jesus, I do love the little children.

I just sometimes find jobs I really want. Rural tourism position? Yes! Database something-or-other at Monticello? Please! Gallery manager at a children's museum? Want! I apply for many but there's not a lot of rhyme or reason in relation to learning or degrees in the ones I really want.

That's probably just the tip of the iceberg. I keep thinking of more specific things to fit into an interdisciplinary degree.

I really wish there wasn't this whole big push for education. I want the stigma to be taken out of not going to college. And blue collar jobs. I also wish that I could unlearn the culture and people of academia because I learned to feel self-conscious when I saw What I Should Be Focused On. And hierarchy. Hierarchy led me to feel intense shame followed by bitterness and anger. This is the socially acceptable way to level up. I can go hide in a rural area and help people (this is appealing to me right now) but I don't know how sincere I am because maybe I'm just hiding. If I can't fit in, if I'm not smart enough, if I don't have enough money, if I don't have enough degrees, if I'm not of the same social status as someone else, if I'm not married, if I don't have a professional job........do I go somewhere where there are fewer educated people just to make myself feel better?

Wait. Isn't that gentrification? Ugggh!

I envy people that tell me they have no ideas. I have too many and I am not making money fast enough to do anything about it. The absolute worst part is that I never know when I am being sincere anymore. I am driven by anxiety, anger, bitterness, practicality, frugality, and God knows what else. Not "love" or "heart". Then there's this reality that my family has always experienced. You don't pick or choose what you do; you have to take what is available. A lifetime of that isn't so bad but a lifetime of that with education might be unbearable. I've seen how other people live, I know what it's like.

I was going to say that there is no school for driving with the windows down because that might be the only sincere thing about me anymore but then I realized that I could potentially go to truck driving school for that.

Milagres

Last week, I signed up for Google+ which somehow turned on my Gchat messenger. One of my old show buddies from up north messaged me to ask how I was doing. As we chatted, I found myself trying desperately to recall how we actually met but I couldn't. Shows, yeah...but what shows? How the heck did I end up staying at her house in Boston? It dawned on me that not only have a lost a huge chunk of my identity with show-going, but now I have forgotten so much of what I used to dwell on and meticulously document.

My musical intake has slowed to a trickle these days and it's probably not just me. I'm living in the post-hipster world of soccer fans and attachment parenting. The Arcade Fire won a Grammy; a sure sign that whatever you want to call the culture that I tried desperately to be a part of has now been dispersed amongst the normals.

I've been swept away from show-going and photography by adulthood, academia, and The Economy. I find myself grasping for people and things I think I might enjoy but nearly everything feels artificial to me. So.....what a blessing it is that sometimes little things come through my inbox, twitter feed, or even Flickr that I don't even have to question.

Milagres are people making music and photographs that bring me joy. I saw them randomly three years ago when they played at the Velvet Lounge in DC as the Secret Life of Sofia and they're one of the few bands I've kept on my radar but haven't actually had any interaction with. Earlier this year, I saw that they would be putting out an album in the Fall and I lived vicarious through Eric's wonderful tour photos. By chance, I discovered they were opening for someone at the 9:30 Club in DC last night so for the first time in a very long time, I took show photos.







I need to do things like this more often.

My First Concert

The first concert I ever went to was Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians at James Madison University in Harrisonburg, VA on March 30, 1989.

I was four years old at the time.

I remember it.

I remember my dad taking me, I remember riding in his corvette with the top down, I remember the auditorium, I remember the balcony, and I remember peeing in my pants.

I loved Edie Brickell; I owned a copy of Shooting Rubberbands At The Stars on tape and I would play it over and over again. I knew all the words.

I remember being in the first grade at M. M. Pierce elementary school and the teacher asked me who I admired most. I didn't understand what the word admired meant so she explained it and I told her, "Edie Brickell". She told me that I didn't get it and explained again but this time hinted that I should probably say someone historically famous or mommy or daddy. This time I told her, "Wilson Phillips."

Education Sadness and Frustration

After reading hundreds of tweets from the MLA convention, I am convinced that higher education has nothing to do with undergraduate students. My undergraduate education existed as a tool to fund graduate studies.

I keep thinking about the idea of breaking boundaries between teachers/facilitators and students. I also keep thinking about the idea of learning for the sheer sake of learning. I've been going through lists of courses at Mason; I wonder if I emailed professors if any would be receptive to letting me sit in on a class for the semester...? I tried emailing a professor from Columbia University that wrote encouraging articles last semester but he returned my email with a very high-and-mighty professional no. I've also looked at sites like p2pu.com but not found what I was looking for. I can't help but think that resources would be easier to come across if I actually lived in the DC area; something I can't afford right now.

I have so many thoughts on higher education because of all the blogs and tweets I read but I feel like my thoughts are so much smaller and simpler than those of the PhD folks that are using words like PEDAGOGY or POLITICAL ECONOMY or HEGEMONY or DIGITAL HUMANITIES. All the while I am feeling more and more self-conscious because of the fact that I live in a rural town, I live with my mom, and I work in childcare coupled with the fact that educated people don't want to have anything to do with me. (This is not a perception; my emails and calls mostly go ignored.)

What can I do to change things? How can I infiltrate this snarky, snobby world of higher education, learn the language and culture, be accepted, then translate that knowledge into something useful and understandable to other people outside of academia? Isn't that how things should work? Furthermore, shouldn't those playing the role of the student have a say in all of the fluffy stuff padding their education?

I guess I'm just sad because I'm on the outside.

Sex Education

I feel the need to share my high school sex education experience. Here it is:







Culpeper County High School had church ladies come into health class and tell me to not have sex until marriage. They also told me that women were like crock pots and men were like microwaves. I thought this was hilarious at the time and refused to sign the pledge.

That was about ten years ago. I kind of wonder if it's still like that...

I bring this up for two reasons. The first is that last week I saw The Education of Shelby Knox and I cried through half of it because it made me wish my life was different. Like, you know; I wish I had done something back then. I wish I had resources and support. More importantly, I wished that at that age I had the knowledge of something other than what was being taught to me. I knew something was wrong and I knew I didn't fit in but without the knowledge of the outside world, I couldn't really do anything because I didn't know what to do.

The second thing that made me think of this is that tonight I stopped at Walmart in Culpeper on my way home for the first time in a long time. I heard a woman call my name so I turned around. It was this woman and her kid and I said hello and studied her for a moment. I said, "I'm sorry.......I'm terrible with remembering names......do I know you?" She told me her name and that we went to school together. I asked what she had been doing and she told me she was a full time mom; she had a five year old and a one year old. She looked so different than me; like a woman. A mature women. A mom. I just thought to myself, how did I end up in such a different world than all these people in my hometown? I knew something was up back then but I had no idea what until I left Culpeper. (And let me tell you, it got me into a lot of authority-questioning trouble, too.) How did I sense things were not what they seemed and my peers did not?

Obsessive Compulsive Admission

I am extremely embarrassed by the strange weight I place on live music and musicians. I am almost ashamed of the meticulous lists and organizational system of photographs on my computer. The half-finished scrapbooks and large laundry basket of photographs in chronological order make me want to cry. When I moved to Fairfax and started school at George Mason University, I finally let go. I stopped making lists and I let my organizational system go to hell. At the end of 2008, all of my folders were named New Folder (1), New Folder (2), and so on. I stopped going to every single show simply because I couldn't; I no longer had a vehicle and I lived too far out to Metro in.

When I got my car back, the drive wasn't there anymore. Now I only go see bands I am extremely comfortable with. And I've traded my camera for a book. That's right; I can go to shows without a camera now. In 2007, I went to 150 shows and I had a camera at 150 of those shows. I had to. I didn't want to miss anything; I wanted to be able to recall anything and have proof of it. I wanted to be an expert at something which I suspect only I cared about. After all, I still have yet to meet anybody with musical fingerprints even a little bit similar to mine.

The horrible point to all of this is that last night I was going through that laundry basket looking for photos from August 22, 2003 and I wanted to cry because I couldn't find them. I was looking for something tangible to hold onto but I couldn't find it. This indicates to me that the photos don't exist because back then, I did not make archival mistakes.

Unemployment, Week 2

I went to another river today. This time I went swimming. Well, as much "swimming" as I could; the water level was ridiculously low. I hadn't been to Woolen Mills in many years but I still don't recall the water ever having been that low.

Friends, meet the Rivanna:









You know, I think this is what I like now.

No, really. I'm sitting in the back of the room at the tea house in Charlottesville while the Invisible Hand plays and honestly, all I can think is that I'm too tired and old to be here. I wake up every morning way earlier than I'd like and the only thing that really appeals to me right now is wading through water and springing from rock to rock. Well, that and reading comic books in neat places. And, you know, the idea of having a job or being in graduate school. I am somewhat miserable right now but I'm subjecting myself to it because it's something I'm supposed to like and it's something to do. Something I've always done.

Oh, and the food.


cover letter + chai shake

The food.

I've had cold mint tea, a chai shake, cocoa rooibos, and a hummus platter with extra carrots.

Hmmm. I guess some things don't change.

Changing of the Seasons

White Owl in 2006

That's White Owl. I've written about him before. I saw him two weeks ago on the mall in front of the Mudhouse in Charlottesville. That means it's time for school to start again and for autumn to come. Unlike last time, I actually went up to him and we talked for a bit. I talked about how I was no longer going to graduate school at the University of Delaware because I received no job or funding and the day before I had been given my two weeks notice at work. He talked about moving on; he told me he'd be going to Athens before the end of the week. He also spoke fondly of Iowa City; said it was his favorite college town.

White Owl also spoke of his frustration with the economy; the mall was full of people just sitting there with signs and cups asking for money. He plays the flute for money and these people just sit there and jiggle their cups; they're not doing anything to earn the money.

I don't know why I've always been so fascinated with this man. When I walked away this time, I found myself wondering if White Owl was actually Jesus.

Unemployment: Photo Essay

Two days in, I found myself knee-deep in the Rappahannock River in Fredericksburg, Virginia. What shows used to do for me -- shut my thoughts off and allow me to peacefully live in the moment -- is now being done by nature. I find myself particularly attracted to moving bodies of water. And rocks; lots of rocks.





















The few sad thoughts that permeated the peace were the following: One, this ultimately would have been more enjoyable with the children I had most recently been employed to look after and two, everyone else is back at school except for me. And okay, three; where did Olivia end up? I could just ask but I'm afraid to; I don't want to find out that the last active person that I associated with an amazing music scene in DC is gone.

Things I Wish I Had Written

Mr. Petersen is the awesome bomb that dropped on my world and blew me to smitherenes!!!
If i could discribe him in one word it would be perfect...
He is triumphant and admirable...
a golden throphy upon the sucess mantle (link)

On the one hand, yes. Just yes. I'm totally with you.

On the other hand, um, no.

The Way Things Used To Be: Babybird

Maybe it's my age, maybe it's my place in life, or maybe it's just the way things are in my culture right now...
I'm thinking back to the way things used to be in the mid-90s. I'm thinking about a lot of things but I'm specifically thinking about music. Throughout the majority of my teenage years, I listened to the radio and took notes.

I took notes. Who does that?

Seriously. Did you do that?

It started when I lived downstairs and I'd listen to the nightly countdowns on the DC pop stations. I'd call in and vote for my favorite songs, too.

At some point, I must have stayed in Charlottesville because I discovered that their pop station (Z95) turned into some nationally syndicated cooler pop station at night. I think it was called Music Channel One. After that, I would intentionally stay at my grandmother's house and play with the antenna on the radio in order to hear the station. I wrote down everything I liked and marked everything with checks, pluses, stars, and whatever notes I thought up. I also wrote down things I hated.

At some point, I came across 91.9 WNRN and it changed my life. The Ska Punks, No Losers show changed my life. Bartley changed my life. I would sit in my upstairs room adjusting the antenna and listening to the radio through the static. I always took notes and commented on Bartley's drunken antics. My mom would always get mad at me for staying up late and making long distance calls to a radio show that "sounds like it's being broadcast out of someone's basement".

In the closet at my mom's house is a big purple bin with all of my Notebooks in it. They're filled with diary entries, lists of music, and musical commentary. I haven't looked at them in years but now all of a sudden I want to.

Without a job or classes, I've been flipping through the internet and learning bits and pieces about things I only sort of knew. Old television shows, the Chernobyl disaster, how sweet oil works, polydactyl cats, King Missile, and......I just remembered something in those Notebooks that I never followed up on. Babybird.

Babybird. I remember their name written a handful of times in my Notebooks. I remember turning up the radio when they came on. I remember looking for their album at the old location of Plan 9 in Albermarle Square.

That's it. Blip. Gone.

They just popped into my head an hour ago and GOOGLE, WIKIPEDIA, YOUTUBE!!! away I went.

I didn't even remember what they could have possibly sounded like or what songs I used to like or anything really. I guessed. TYPE TYPE TYPE YOUTUBE

The sounds that fill my ears now are incredibly blissful and distantly familiar like an old middle school classmate.

These videos are quite obviously not my work but they were at one point part of the soundtrack of my life:









For the past hour or so, I've been listening to these four songs. I'm not really sure what I'm doing. I'm trying to remember them but I don't. I remember writing them down. And I remember that they were important and good because I wrote that they were. But I still don't remember them.

I am writing things less and less. I am not making lists of shows, I am not photographing everything under the sun, I am not documenting how my money is spent.

On the one hand, I am sad because there are so many things I won't remember because they're not documented.

On the other hand, I am starting to not care. This used to bother me a lot but maybe not so much now. I am glad that there's a box of books at my mom's house that enabled me to remember this band tonight but I'm also somewhat glad to be free from The Way Things Used To Be.

As far as Babybird, I am obtaining a cd straight away and making it brand new again; here's to driving with the windows down in spring of 2010!

Suburban Boondocks

Today I bundled up and trudged to the grocery store to buy some juice in the beginnings of a snowstorm. Instead of just walking home, I wimped out and waited for the bus. Waiting with me were four black people.

Black people. Am I even allowed to say black people or do I have to say African American...?

They appeared to be in their late 20s or early 30s. There were three males and a female. I huddled in the bus shelter with them as they spoke loudly and cursed at each other. I couldn't really tell if they were mad at each other or just playing around. I'd seen this before; mostly among youth in urban settings. In fact, the last time I was in Northeast DC I watched a group of teenagers at a Chinese take-out restaurant play like this for a good thirty minutes.

The female and one of the males were swearing at each other -- n-word this and n-word that. They started pushing each other and wrestling in the bus shelter. Their friends laughed. The woman slammed the man into the side of the bus shelter and shattered the plastic encasing that held the bus schedules; they didn't seem to care. She then heaved him out onto the sidewalk where his pants fell to his ankles. She grabbed his tighty-whitey underwear and pulled them up to his chest so on-looking traffic could see his bare ass. She finally let him go and they continued to argue. Their friends didn't seem very concerned at all.

What?

Why is culture like this? To be fair, I feel like redneck culture might be the same way; it's self-perpetuating. Like, are you not embarrassed? Do you not view this as a negative incident? How did your friends not care? Should I not care? (You did notice that I was present, right?)

The thing is, it took me a minute to realize that this was happening in real life. I've been watching Boondocks a lot lately and it highlights (and accentuates) black culture just like that. What I saw today felt strange, distant, and out-of-place. It felt like television.

I need to get acquainted with other cultures; cultures that are right here.