Step Down Kwame

The good people of Detroit have been feeling a kinship with the people of New York recently since the advent of Textgate. Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick had an affair with his Chief of Staff, then lied about it last year in a whistleblower trial which was then exposed when the steamy text messages between the two were revealed. So that's a proud trifecta of prejury, obstructing justice and misuse of power while in office all of which he was charged with this week. (Wouldn't it have been fun trying to reach him then,"I'm sorry the Mayor is being indicted now, may I take a message?") But still he hangs on, saying he's innocent.

Step down Kwame. It's over. Go slink away back in the dark like the lowdown dirty snake you are.

From the Heart of Stage Two

I guess I should be grateful that I'm through Stage One, especially since in the darkest of the dark that sometimes seemed unlikely, but strangely this week I rather miss it. Of course there's that it was closer to my old life, the one I still miss and think of as my real life, but there is also a sort of purity to Stage One.

Stage One is all loss, all the time. Stage One is crying and throwing up and then crying some more. Stage One is clawing your way through each day, just amazed that you're out of bed, dressed and able to drive. Stage One is everything gone-appetite, music, home-a Sherman's march to the sea devastation where each thing then must be reclaimed, slowly, bit by bit.

Stage Two is different. Stage Two is the first tender shoots poking out. Stage Two is learning what you get to reclaim and what is gone for good. Stage Two is to begin to look, speculatively, at new people and to imagine, incessantly, being touched again. Stage Two is the feeling that you should be outfitted with a sandwich board that says 'handle me with care'. Or that on one side and 'approach with caution' on the other the better to be swung around by the wind of your ever changing moods. Stage Two is also 'yes porter, I have baggage' and 'you're going to need a bigger boat'.

Stage Two can be tricky-feeling okay gets to be a habit that causes any sudden 'oh shit' turbulance to bring you to your knees. I had some turbulance this week when I found myself lacking the requisite abandon necessary for forging something new.

Me? Lacking abandon?

Of my many relationship flaws, all now carefully and painstakingly catalogued, abandon had always been a strong suit. For me-who's shown up on doorsteps naked, given musical instruments (years before "Once"), serenaded in front of a room full of people-to hit the pedal and get nothing in that department was nothing short of jaw droppingly stunning. That full bore, all or nothing way is the only way I know and if I don't have that anymore, if that has been taken from me too, what I am left with? And what then am I good for?

Given that, it's hard not to see myself in my poor car, recently pronounced dead car driving. She looks okay from the outside but the inside, well the inside would cost far more to fix than she's worth. Can the same be said of me?

Courage to the Sticking Point (For Real)

I do not have TB. I also do not have ebola, yellow fever or the flesh eating bacteria but the TB free status was crucial to starting my new drug, Embrel. Once I got the all clear, what I thought was a routine rhumatologist visit turned into MY FIRST TIME SELF INJECTING.

Holy crap!

Good thing I had zero time to think about it-no time to pysch myself out. Got my refresher then it was time to do it. Which I would like to share I DID LIKE A CHAMP. I couldn't be any prouder if I invented the damn drug myself. I need a blue ribbon or a trophy. Something to hoist over my head in victory. Yay me!

Two Great Tastes That Taste Great Together

It's that time of year at work again-performance evaluation time, the only time you can find me glued to my desk. As Sales Manager I get the lion's share of the fun, 21 this year. Form after form filled with the oh-so-PC business speak that sounds, after the first few, like so much Lewis Carroll gobblygook. "Leverging the synergy" and so forth. But the problem this year, besides not enough hours in the workday, is I've also really gotten into the funny cats at I Can Has Cheezeburger. I know, it's cat pictures with funny captions, but I swear the best of them make me nearly fall off my chair. It's like they're hooked directly to my funny bone or something. If you haven't checked it out, you should. http://icanhascheezburger.com But the cats' indiosyncratic grammar (they just don't get it) is rubbing off.

So, instead of "In 2007 Denise amply demonstrated excellent internal and external customer service by driving sales, helping the store to reach it's goal on the Customer Service Index and by being named Employee of the Month for December." it's "Kustmr Skillz? Denise Gotz Dem"

Should make for some excellent discussions.

Carpe Opportunity

If I had a digital camera I totally would have had the Dairy Queen employee take my picture this afternoon as I sat on the picnic table out front enjoying a Blizzard (a Heath one, natch) in a blizzard. Yeah, it's not touring the Continent or playing Carnegie Hall but an opportunity to be seized nevertheless.

Best. Audio. Book. Music. Ever.

At the behest of one of my staff, and now much to my delight, I am currently enjoying Stephen King's Lisey's Story on audio. It's a great performance, by actress Mare Winningham, and it has the best music. I don't normally go for the musical accompaniment with the audio books, it's usually amateurish, especially with mysteries. Clumsy goosing whenever a gun comes out-yeah, I get it. I have been listening for 8 hours now I don't need your synthesizers to tell me the plot is thickening. And the sex sax? PleeeSE. But Lisey's Story starts out with the aucoustic version of Ryan Adams' "When the Stars Go Blue". Now that's some choice music. I guess it's good to be Stephen King.

Never Fails in the Mitten

Spring on the calendar, snow on the ground.

I knew I shouldn't have put the boots away...

I Just Wish I Was Cool Enough to Use it in Conversation

Found on an antique postcard:

"Don't think you are the whole fruit stand just because you are a lemon."

Every Monday Matters-Monday 11

Register to vote? For real? Yeah I did that, about 22 years ago. I have never missed a national primary or election since. I get a real charge out of it my own self, except when the primary is moved around and the national party doesn't count my vote. Then it's not so fun. But I know lots of people don't vote-only 68% of eligible people are even registered-and I think that stinks. Hopefully with a close race and some dynamic candidates more people will hop on the bandwagon.


Not registered? Contact your Secretary of State, Rock the Vote or your local League of Women Voters.

Just One More

11. Is a speculum included?


(This goes with the previous entry. Told you I wasn't so good off the top of my head.)

The Hoyden, Taking Your Requests

My friend, Carrie, just sent me the following item listing from Craiglist with the explict
instruction that I blog about it immediately so she can sleep tonight. It's tough off the top of my head but here we go:


"vintage midcentury modern cheerful gynecological exam table/credenza"


1) WTF?!

2) What the hell was Carrie looking for that this popped up? Or do I really want to know?

3) When using it as a credenza what do you do with the stirrups? Cup holders?

4) At least it's cheerful.

5) Modern like mod modern or modern like all the rust as been cleaned off?

6) Again, WTF?!

7) Talk about a conversation piece!

8) Versatile pieces are smart buys for the budget buyer.

9) How much and when can I take possession?

It's Spring, It's Irish, It's Seamus Heaney

"Rite of Spring"

So winter closed its fist
And got it stuck in the pump.
The plunger froze up a lump

In its throat, ice founding itself
Upon iron. The handle
Paralysed at an angle.

Then the twisting of the wheat straw
Into ropes, lapping them tight
Round stem and snout, then a light

That sent the pump up in a flame.
It cooled, we lifted her latch.
Her entrance was wet, and she came.


Seamus Heaney
from Door Into the Dark

Sure Sign of Spring #2

Something told me to go that way today and what do you know-the DQ is open! Limited hours but it's open. Blizzards and Blasts and Peanut Buster Parfaits...up next, the crocuses!

Yeah, Jesus Loves Me but What Do I Think of Him?

"Jesus Christ Superstar"
Fox Theatre, Detroit
March 14, 2008

For a girl's night out some of the women at work invited me to join them for some Lenten rock 'n' roll. Not being much of an Andrew Lloyd Webber fan myself, I really just went for the company and a night of laughter. I had never seen the show before and only ever saw the movie once so I didn't remember too much. On this tour the part of Jesus is being played by Ted Neeley, the original Jesus from the movie. That's the 1973 movie so seeing Neeley is rather like seeing Robert Goulet in "Camelot"-your pleasure at seeing the actual guy in the part is tempered by him being entirely too long in tooth for the role. I get the name recognition factor but the theatergoer really shouldn't be distracted by thoughts like Rogaine for Jesus (no more deep bows Ted Neeley!). Corey Glover played the part of Judas, who is of course the real focus of this story, which was also distracting as I was having Living Color flashbacks-"Cult of Personality" indeed!

Overall, my feeling is, much like the classic Beatles vs Stones question, you're either a "Jesus Christ Superstar" person or a "Godspell" person and after last night I can say I am a "Godspell" person. Amen!

"Two Hearts" Mystery Solved

Ever since Ryan Adams' "Easy Tiger" came out last year I have been wondering about the song "Two Hearts"-specifically about the line "three words, is all it takes to break your heart". What were those three words anyway?

Well, now we have an answer from the man himself. On his new blog http://dradamsfilms@com Ryan says he's been following some threads on fan message boards regarding the song and though he normally doesn't like to explain away all the mystery in his lyrics (apparently it makes them easier to keep singing over the longterm) this one time he offered the three words he originally overheard that inspired this song which are "I'm so sorry."

Mystery solved!

Livin in My Hood

For those unfamiliar with the geography of the Mitten (Raise your right hand, fingers together. Now you have the Lower Penisula of Michigan.) Ypsilanti is the wrong side of Ann Arbor-the place people who want to live in Ann Arbor, but can't afford to, live. My particular slice of Ypsi is apartment complex city. It's not the real hood, I accidentally found that one day when I was lost, but there's hints of it. My own building could be one of those old multiethnic Benetton ads except well, we're not that pretty and we're definately not united. There's blacks, asians, a Sikh (his personalized plate reads SIKH QT) and me. Some of the guys in the building are, well they're not really hoods (for example instead of having a Pit Bull, cause you can't rent with a Pit Bull, they have a Pointer) but they could play them on TV if, by TV you mean a lesser cable channel like, say, Lifetime. One of their favorite things to do when I first moved in last fall was hang out by the front door and not move to let me pass. Apparently, it's a good time. Now I firmly believe the best way not to get bullied is to not acknowledge the effort and it seems to have worked. Now I mostly get the head tick up, what my friend Les calls 'man chin' (as in 'Hey, I'm a man, here's my chin'). Once they even opened the door for me while they were sitting on steps inside the building smoking pot. (You don't want to linger in the hall if you care how you smell.) Me, I'm like the Greta Garbo of neighbors-I just want to be let alone* but I did overhear the following conversation on the way in one day:

"Who dat?"
"White girl? She stay in the basement."

Priceless.

As I believe Ben Franklin once said, "rent in haste, repeat at leisure."



*One of Hollywood's most oft misquoted, the line is almost always spoken incorrectly as "I want to be alone". There is a small but subtle difference between the two.

Days Like These

Despite what some might think from reading this blog, with all the quips and the 'joke in every pot' breeziness, I am actually quite tenderhearted. To a fault really. I'm still smarting from a rebuke from Monday so the flag of my disposition has been low. To combat it I fell back on a classic chick trick-shiny stuff. Wearing your sparkliest sweater doesn't solve anything, it's true, but getting a compliment from every woman you see can't hurt.

Mazel Tov Leonard!

Tonight, as I write this, Leonard Cohen is being inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Though I am somewhat skeptical of the institution, I couldn't be more personally pleased for him. He deserves all kind of kudos for his long and varied career and if this event shines more light on him so much the better.

So thank you Mr. Cohen, for all you have done. Thank you for the years of trying to figure out "Famous Blue Raincoat". Thank you for the bittersweet delight that is your poem "Song" which gave me my green sweater fixation. Thank you for the way my voice sounds when I sing "Song of Bernadette" in the shower. Most of all, thanks for all the wonderful words.

Congratulations!

Every Monday Matters-Monday 10

In which I get to buy pasta looking crazy curlique lightbulbs. We all know, at least those of us who have seen "An Inconvenient Truth", they're longer lasting (10 times longer!) than a standard incandescent bulb and save $30 over the life the bulb. And replacing just 1 bulb prevents the release of 300 pounds of carbon dioxide a year so if we do the math, if every home switched 1 that would be 90 billion pounds a year. Pretty cool but I would caution that since they contain mercury, special disposal rules apply. And, you'd be wise to count how many of your fixtures can actually accomodate the fancy design because, as I discovered the hard way, not all do. But now I'm so ready for the next time the bulb goes.

What the Universe Said

I've been stressing about friends lately. They're in touch, they're not in touch. They like me, I annoy them. I want to help but I don't know how. It's kind of like the old Steven Wright joke about naming your dog Stay. "Come here, Stay. Come here, Stay". (Definately funnier when he does it.)

And then, as almost always happens, something turned up. God, the clue phone, the universe-whatever, this is what it said today:

"When we honestly ask which persons in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that is those who, instead of giving much advice, solutions or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a gentle and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who cam tolerate not-knowing, not-curing, not-healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness..makes it clear that whatever happens in the external world, being present to each other is what really matters."

-Henri J.M. Nouwen

Thanks, I needed that.

A Song for Alicia Ross

"Mamma can you hear me
as I dragged on my day's last cigarette"

These are the words that have been ringing inside my head since Tuesday. They are from the Kathleen Edwards song, "Alicia Ross", which I first heard her sing the last time I saw her live in April 2006. (Until its release I had just been calling it 'the dead girl's song'.) Alicia Ross was a girl who was murdered outside her home by her next door neighbor-her disappearance in 2004 led to the largest manhunt in Canadian history. In that, and the way her story captured attention, Alicia is kind of like the Canadian equivilant of Polly Klaas.

The song is masterful in its economy. Alicia goes from "the girl with the forgettable face" to "the girl whose face they'll never forget" in just 5 minutes and 6 seconds not because of any deeds that she did but rather by the cruel and singular way of her death which takes away the possibility for all she might have done.

"He pulled me so hard
off my very own back door steps
And he laid me in his garden
All the years I've watched him tend."

The song is chilling for its matter of factness-Kathleen has done great angry songs before but this is new territory. Her singing is controlled with just the right amount of wistful longing. Pitchfork Media called "Alicia Ross" a murder ballad which is technically not the case, just cause a song has a slow tempo and a killing doesn't make it a murder ballad. Intended or no, Kathleen's biggest debt for this song appears to be author Alice Sebold. More than a true murder ballad "Alicia Ross" the song seems to be a musical Lovely Bones.

"He took me, Mamma
So I could never tell you about it"

The true heartbreak of this song is that murder isn't the worst violation nor is the descration of the body after-no, the worst violation is that her mother will never know the truth of all happened. I am not a parent myself but that feels right to me and gets more right the more I listen.

Proceeds from the sale of "Hope for Flowers" and "Alicia Ross" on iTunes benefit Project Canoe, a charity for at risk kids started in Alicia's name. Visit www.aliciaross.ca for more details.

Bulletin from the Department of Unnecessary Modfiers

From the jacket description of Ken Bruen's new Jack Taylor mystery Cross; "a brutal cruxifiction".

Well, yeah. And duh.

Isn't that the point really, with cruxifiction? Suffocation with accompanying torture-yeah, think there's a reason why it's so low on the "ways I wanna go" list.

Thank God It's Tuesday

Cause Tuesday is new release day and I had two reasons to be happy-new Kathleen Edwards and rereleased Whiskeytown. I was so tempted to buy them early after I unboxed them (those suckers don't keeper and sticker themselves) but I was good and instead used them as carrots to get me through an emotionally pinballing couple of days. And after more weather (winter fatigue is the disease de jour), store reorganization (read more work same pay) extreme e-embarassment (who knew Facebook was so much like 5th grade?) and a walloping blast from the past (when found art bites you on the butt) I could use a few treats.

"Asking For Flowers" is the new Kathleen. The title comes from a conversation she had with a fan, a real 'sometimes you feel like a nut' one according to Kathleen, who used the expression and then said, "You know what I mean?" When Kathleen professed ignorance the woman said, "They are the kind that sends flowers or they aren't-hoping for flowers if they aren't isn't going to do a damn thing for you." Crazy or no, that's some sensical advice on useless desire. I've only listened twice so far but so far it's great.

The other is the rerelease of "Stranger's Almanac" complete with a giant sticker on the front that proclaims RYAN ADAMS' CRITICALLY ACCLAIMED FIRST BAND. It wasn't technically, and I feel kind of bad for the rest of the band but I know what they're getting at and I am pleased by the reissue especially by the 24 previously unreleased tracks. Talk about making it worth my while!

Again, I say Thank God It's Tuesday.

Every Monday Matters-Monday 09

Protect yourself on the Internet? Check! This one was super easy..

This Week on those Wacky Transcendentalists...

I just finished reading Susan Cheever's hugely fun American Bloomsbury, which chronicles the genius cluster that was Concord, Massachusetts in the 1850s. Concord was once dubbed "the biggest little place in America" by Henry James and with good reason. Louisa May Alcott, Henry David Thoreau, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Margaret Fuller, Nathaniel Hawthorne and Herman Melville all working and living within houses of each other. Little Women, Walden, The Scarlet Letter, Moby Dick-the contribution to American Arts & Letters is staggering.

After tearing through the book I'm now ready for the miniseries. I'm talking old school, 10-12 hours, give-up-a-piece-of-your-life miniseries-none of this 2 night newfangled bullshit.

Think it sounds dry? Think again Scooter. There's sex:

*Alcott lusted for both Thoreau and Emerson-indeed Laurie from Little Women was said to be inspired by one (or both!) of them.
*All the men were hot for Fuller, of whom Edgar Allan Poe once said "there are three kinds of people-men, women and Margaret Fuller". Emerson alone wrote her passionate love letters while she was a guest in his own home.
*Melville was, according to some, ultimately driven mad by his consuming and unrequited affection for Hawthorne. (That could account for the homoerotic undertones in Moby Dick...)

And craziness:

*Bronson Alcott lost the family fortune on a commune, Fruitlands, due in part because not only were the members strict vegans but he also would not allow any use of animals. (You try plowing without horse or oxen and see how much food you grow.)

And a great supporting cast:

*Poe, Horace Greeley, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Franklin Pierce all make appearances.

So come on HBO, no more "Sopranos" or "Wire"-how about something new? Or how about you "Masterpiece" (I love how the "Theatre" was dropped like the Fried in KFC-when did theater become unhealthy?) you've done Austen to death, how about some American Masters?

Swede Me Michel Gondry

Your whimsy tolerance is key when considering "Be Kind Rewind". If you like it, you'll be charmed by the movie's naive sweetness. If your whimsy tolerance is low, you should not go as you'll find the movie meandering and slight. It is in fact, all of these things, but I like whimsy so I was totally on board.

I loved the zeal of Jack Black and Mos Def's characters as they attempted to recreate their customer's favorite movies (this is after Black's character gets magnetized during his power plant espionage and ruins all the VHS tapes) the process they call "swedeing". I loved that their business grew as people saw their work not because the people couldn't differentiate between the sweded and the real thing but rather because they preferred the sweded one. The love that we feel for our favorite movies is taken one step further, when we become part of them. "Be Kind Rewind" is a fantasy, yes, but also a love letter to community, both artistic and physical. For that, I loved it.