confessions of a closet indie kid

Most of the time I go through life generally pretty happy with who I am, what I do, the people I meet, etc., but every now and again I get a little depressed that my life isn't quite as indie as I'd like it to be.

Whatever do you mean by that, Lorn? Define "indie."

Sure, there are some of you out there who might get slightly aggravated, nay, even offended, by my use of the term, being as terms often incorrectly classify a certain style or lump otherwise opposing forces into the same category. To you I say, I'm sorry. I usually don't have any idea what I'm talking about, so please go about your lives with the same quiet dignity as before.

What I mean by this indie inspired depression is, sometimes my clothes aren't unique or retro enough, sometimes I find my lack of skinny girl-jeans clad boyfriend appalling, and my cd collection occasionally, just occasionally, contains too few little known smart kid bands with catchy romantic tunes from the Pacific Northwest.

Moments like these come around after I have seen a touching, left-of-mainstream film such as, let's say, Garden State (Hans, rejoice, for yes, now I have seen it). Such films that leave me feeling more than a little smitten with Zach Braff (whose blog, by the way, is fantastically hilarious and ought to be read by you all, right now) and wondering, as endearingly gendered as the role may be, when I too will get to play muse to my own brand of Braff. I'd say that perhaps I could fill the part of tortured (or in this case, numb) soul undergoing transformation, but really, I think I've pretty much got life sorted out and there isn't much that's going to drastically change my world view at this point in time.

And it's moments like these that make me realize that Texas is probably the wrong place for finding these sorts of persons. But then again, let's not stereotype. Who knows? I think the population of lost soul indie kids is probably more varied and numerous in towns that I have left, such as, oh say, Madison. Just a hunch.

Furthermore, I am generalizing and romanticizing a sub-clique that likely wants no part in my enumerations of its desirability, having now been exposed for what it is in this and other such films. It is likely that any romance of mine will be normal and disappointingly straightforward in the usual way.

But that, friends is precisely why we have love stories- to make our own seem unsastifactory and to keep us running back to the CD store for more "soundtrack of our imaginary lives" bands so we can lie on the sofa and feel nostaligic for the lives we never had.

That Postal Service CD sure is good, though.

hot diggity

Damn, that's a lineup.

Going for CAKE, of course, on Sunday. Money does not permit me to attend all three days of the Austin City Limits Music Festival, but Sunday is enough to make me happy.

Check it out.

So, I have to balance this delicately. Many of these artists catching my eye overlap. So I can see the opening half of The Roots, the middle of Ben Kweller, the beginning of Elvis Costello, and the end of Jack Johnson, and then take a well deserved break before the beginning of Wilco, the middle of the Dirty Dozen Brass Band, all of Cake, yes? and Medeski, Martin and Wood will just have to be patient. The rest of the evening will be dedicated to Ben Harper.

Jesus Christ. On a bicycle.

Unfortunately I won't be seeing Ryan Adams or the Rebirth Brass Band (both Friday), or The Pixies (eep!) , G Love and the Special Sauce (that's the second time I've missed them by a day), Modest Mouse, and Cat Power (all Saturday). As far as bands I want to see though, I think Sunday takes the CAKE.

I guess they weren't kidding when they said Austin was a good music town.

should get my shitwit card in the mail any day now

I have been bitching and bitching all month that I've been here in Texas about the drivers. People in your blind spot, people making ridiculously risky turns in all directions, people being fucktards all over the damn street.

I am not allowed to talk any longer.

On my way to marching band today, getting ready to turn on to the frontage road that accesses 75, I crunched my bumper right into the SUV in front of me.

To be fair, I had expected her to keep turning as our lane turned into its own respective lane on the frontage road, but her big ass SUV had prevented me from seeing that the lane in question was, indeed, closed. So, I looked left, was clear, and took off. Crrrrrrreeeeunch!

Her car, being huge and 25% bumper, escaped damage. Poor E.D., however, has an fugly wedge of a dent on the right side of the right headlight. My baby!

I knew it was only a matter of time before I suffered the consquences of a dented car, because when you look around at cars in this town a high percentage of them are damaged in some way. I had just hoped it wouldn't be my bloody fault.

Fuckin' a.

lazy saturday

Out again last night, this time in celebration of Jason's finally being in town! We had a grand time bar hopping in Deep Ellum again, and found a spot that I think I might have to officially dub "our place to be" because of the coolness of it. Pretty laid back, music not too loud, places to sit, and a spectacular view of downtown Dallas. On a balmy night like last night, it was the perfect place to end up for reminiscing.

I didn't have to worry about driving this time, so lots of vodka drinks for me, and some of the local Texas beer, Shiner Bock. Good stuff.

Jason left today around 2 and I've been sitting around in my pjs doing jack shit. Quite nice, actually, although no different from the jack shit I usually do (just this time I'm doing it unshowered and groggy). This morning I had all sorts of Olympics-related dreams, and also one about peyote, which comes from out of the blue. There was one in there about having someone in bed with me, cuddling. A beautiful feeling but, alas, not a real one.

I think I will go shower now, and pretend like there are things to be accomplished although I have no idea what they might be. Seems like I don't do much outside of watch movies and practice trombone, and well, hey, that's totally accurate.

Maybe I'll watch Dress to Kill again. "Ciao."

difficulties

I have trouble blogging from computers that I'm not used to, or don't belong to me, or have uncomfortable chairs attached, so I apologize at how rare my posting has been lately. That, and there's really not too much going on. I mean, I could rave on and on about my apartment, or Leon, or how Paul Hamm is from Waukesha and that's awesome, but really, you don't want to hear that sort of thing.

I am eyeing up computers of my own, probably a laptop, but it will be a while before I have the bank to purchase it.

I should have at least 10 students starting next week. Huzzah.

shh, baby, hear the train?

Last night I lay awake in bed listening to the nearby whistle of a train (likely the DART) thinking about what a beautiful sound it is. Romantic in a sense, because it evokes images of cross-country journeys through rugged terrain and stunning vistas. The idea of going back to a simpler time.

I am aware that trains, too, have caused their fair share of harm to both environment and indigeous peoples of America; that they, too, are a corporation and a method of explotation.

Still, a train whistle in the dark can conjure up some strong emotions for me. When I look back, the only place I've lived where I haven't been able to hear a train at night has been San Diego. In Madison, the sound would float in my open window over bird chatter and street noise on lazy days while I did my homework, or cuddled with my lover. I have faint memories of our house in Freeport, Illinois, being close to train tracks, and as a child imagining the places a train would take me.

Now I hear it here, in Texas, and I feel a little more comfortable, like it can't be so bad as all that if just I can hear a train now and again.

The other thing that makes me more comfortable about Texas is that I have found it. Dallas's version of Henry's, only much less rustic and Old Poway, with more stainless steel and fancy store layout goodness. It's thousands of square feet of glorious organic produce and bulk cereal, preservative-free bread products, organic shampoo and toothpaste, cheeses from all over the world, the list goes on. Be still, my heart. And oh, it's just around the corner (kind of).

Let's just say it's the sexiest grocery store I've ever been in and I can't control the school girl giddiness that has enveloped my soul. wOOt.

hijinks

Here's your weekly update from me, out here in Texas, doing my thing, etc.

Got a paycheck from the marching gig yesterday, not a big one but one nonetheless. Birds took big shit on my car and I had to get that washed off. I'd like to get some kitchen chairs and I need to go grocery shopping.

Yesterday was, of course, Chris's birthday. He, Leon (assistant band director guy) and I went down to Deep Ellum, in Dallas. For people in San Diego I will describe Deep Ellum as something along the lines of Hillcrest, only with more rednecks and less gay people (unfortunately). Actually, it was quite cool, the fringe part of society, with lots of crazy bars. We bar hopped, staring at a bluesy joint, going to a place next called Crave that would require you to take E to enjoy thoroughly, then to a cool bar that reminded me of a cross between Hawks and Madhatters, on the sleazy end. There were dogs there, and Chris thought they were giant rats. On our way to this bar, we walked past a real live carnival freak show, with lizard men and scantily clad snake wielding maidens and a barker who talked fast and slick to get you inside. It creeped me out like no other, having entered that stage of beer drunk where I feel like I'm in an alternate universe and everyone is a space alien (that's why I don't get beer drunk too often, folks). A few more bars and we ended up in a hookah bar that was just plain rad. It was decorated with Egypt in mind, and there was a little hip hop combo jamming it up in the back. The singer, Cassandra, she was excellent. Jerry, you would love this place.

She sang a lyric "I'm African-American but I'm not African and I'm not American" that made us all stop and think (at least I thought about it until again I was distracted by the hotness of Leon, which wasn't long). It was in fact the only thing I actually understood that she said, the rest of it being garbled by the loudness and fuzziness of the sound system. Worthwhile.

I sobered up sufficiently, and we headed back to drop Leon off and got a drink of water. He kept mentioning that his apartment was a mess, and Chris and I tossed it off as the kind of thing most people say when someone new is coming to visit. However.

It was indeed a disaster.

"It looks like you fucked a newspaper moose in here!" is what I wanted to say, but saved until this morning when Chris and I were nursing our hangovers over the stories of the evening that cracked us up the most (pretty much all of it). Magazines and coupons and newspapers covered every inch of floor that wasn't taken over by shoes or clothes, including the bathroom but thankfully not the kitchen. He walked everywhere looking for something, when I asked what he said "my weed" and then found it where he had just been sitting. We watched a Ben Folds Five DVD. He took his shirt off, and I tried not to cry from wanting him so much.

This morning Chris and I regaled each other with stories, as I have said, then set out to get Chris his car. However, it was another disaster with the loan, and he is still carless. It's quite a clusterfuck. As we pulled back dejectedly into our parking lot, I went to take my purse out of the back seat and found a banana peel. "What the?" I said, and threw it on the ground. I couldn't remember eating a banana in my car nor feeling the need to just toss it in the backseat instead of throwing it away like a normal person. Chris said, "oh, that's Leon's" to which I replied, "Bastard! Don't fuck the banana moose in my car, dammit!" Oh, the laughter. I don't know where this thing with the moose references comes from, but I imagine it's the beer drunk talking.

So saddled with this crush as I am, a lot of my old insecurities are kicking back in. Also, my skin, in coordination with both menstruation and a new climate, has broken out with a vengeance. Add to that being lonely for intimacy and you will find that I am becoming quite emotional and crazy.

Hurray for hormones.

i'm totally crushing

More details on that later. Let's just say it didn't take me long to find someone whose pants I'd really like to get into. Rrowr.

We're off to explore downtown Dallas again this afternoon, having spent the majority of the morning cleaning and listening to really good brass players do amazing things that raise the bar on brass musicianship. Bastards.

This is a useless and pointless post. I need money, furniture, and a significant other, but to sit here and blog about those things is boring for both me and you. Hoping that soon I'll be teaching full time-ish, and that I'll be able to buy a computer. Blah blah blah.

Maybe something exciting will happen in Dallas. I'll let you know.

it's a subconscious thing

I am blessed with the unique talent of having extremely ornate and complicated plot lines grace my dreams, and my sex dreams in particular.

Like the dream I had this summer in which I was involved in a torrid 19th century love affair with a man named Stewart, only to be shamed and excommunicated from my church by the priest who wanted me for himself. Stewart and I escaped to the 20th century by way of various puzzles and obstacles, in the end winning a Road Rules camper and a Mini Cooper.

Chris and I had a late night yesterday; went to Chili's by our apartment and downed several margaritas. As a result today I was tired and took a nap. In my dream Chris and I were at a garage sale where an evil woman was selling all the prized possessions of a handicapped man and he could do nothing about it. Chris distracted the woman while I tried to help the man find a way to stop the sale, but then we got a little...distracted as well. In the end we locked up the woman and I took a nice endtable, only to find that it contained a bomb set to go off in 20 minutes. We called the bomb squad and a guy came, took the bomb and tinkered with it in the corner while Chris and I decorated our apartment with ceramic duck figurines.

Just once, I'd like to have a standard issue sex dream, without bells, whistles, or duck figurines, so that I could wake up happy instead of baffled. Is that so much to ask?

phew

Chris and I were getting kind of worried that it would be a while before we began actually working, with money involved, and I know at least I was a little hesitant to say anything good about the place until I knew I wouldn't just be flat broke for a month. Well, yesterday we started as marching band techs for a high school band camp, 90 degree heat, humidity and all.

Turns out the new marching guy/assistant band director at the school is a friend of Chris's from Madison Scouts, and he's also mm mm good looking. Heh. We've helped out with marching rehearsals and today I ran a sectional. I can never tell if teenage boys genuinely think I'm amusing, or if they're just making fun of me. Any thoughts from my teenage readership?

So, with some money on its way to my pocket and an activity to keep me busy (even if I curse the bloody Texas mosquitos, the biggest I've ever seen), I can say that this is going to be a good place to be, at least for a year or two. I think I'll learn a lot, and make some valuable friends in the music business. My doubts and fears are relieved for the time being.

Thanks for the comments, bitches. :)

don't mess with texas

Here I am in the wonderful city of Plano, TX, having traversed the country in three days driving, all my shit in the trunk, to start over and figure stuff out.

Hey, my apartment's nice.

We don't have much furniture but it's pretty cool. Garage sales are the greatest, and Plano's got some doozies (there are ridiculously nice neighborhoods here). I have a bed, which is all I really need, and some groceries, so I can stay alive by eating and sleeping at the very least.

Waiting to hear back about the jobs. It might be a week or two before I really get started, as right now is busy marching band camp season and school doesn't start for another couple of days. No matter, I'll get to know the place and find my way around. Keep me away from Target though, because I'm spending all my savings.

Chris and I are going to have a blast. Already we've got 8 gazillion new private jokes and have reminisced about practically every Madison memory we can think of. More of this will be done when Jason gets into the state, and we all get trashed and loll around on the floor of my giant apartment.

Speaking of alcohol, Plano is in a dry county, so you can't buy hard liquor around here. You have to drive over to the next town, Richardson, which is in Dallas county, to get that stuff. You can buy beer and wine, but not liquor. Hm.

Chris and I took DART into Dallas today and walked around the West End, a fashionable historic district. It was pretty cool. The Sixth Floor Museum is there, which is in the building that the assassination of JFK took place. It was rather touching, but I think I'll save a trip up to the actual museum until my parents visit, or something.

Anyway, I'm at the library. We get internet in two weeks, so until then I will post whenever I get a chance with updates and tidbits. Thanks to Jerry for guestblogging, you're the greatest babe. The greatest, I say! :)