It's Here!

Today was the laydown day for Northline! It's available for purchase now at a bookstore near you. (Reno snowglobe not included.)

If you are a fan of the arts, no matter the medium, there are certain works that touch you so deeply, that come along with just the right words at just the right time, that to use the verb 'save' to describe them is not hyperbole, just the plain truth.

So I'll say it. Northline saved me.

My job now is to try and get it into as many people's hands as possible. To that end there's the blog, of course, but also now the Northline Fan Club on Facebook (where I just appointed myself President for Life). I also got my 2 best handsellers to read it so now they're on board. And there's the Original Voices program feature in May so...we'll see.

Let's buy some books people!

Exit Eudora, Enter WeeBug

I got a new car today.

I didn't want a new car, I was very much looking forward to no car payments and the many other creative uses I had thought of for that money. I liked my car. Eudora was the first car I ever bought on time and I was kind of proud of that. I also liked her nondescriptness-you could look up car in the dictionary and see her picture. If I was working undercover she would have been perfect.

But, as in often the case in these matters, that is not going to happen. So I got up my nerve and took care of business. I went for another Toyota, this time a Yaris, which is kind of a hybrid wannabe for those that can't afford an actual hybrid. It's little and cute. My friend Marla said it looks like a roller skate. Or perhaps a Cabbage Patch Doll shoe. Or a car the Weebles might drive. But the first one I saw was bright dragonfly blue and I thought it looked like an insect.

So, WeeBug.

And now that I have her I'm trying to enjoy the novelty-exploring all the buttons (she's the first car I have had with power anything. Imagine, you press a button and the window goes up or down-it's crazy!) putting her through her paces and showing her off to friends. Though my family would laugh at this (I'm frequently mocked for my granny speed driving) it's a real treat to be motoring again at full throttle. May we be happily motoring for years to come.

Into the Wild, Again

I finally got around to Netflixing "Into the Wild". I was curious when I heard a movie was being made how many people would be up for watching someone slowly starve to death (that was once I was assured that the filmmakers weren't going to 'Hollywoodize' the ending-a helicopter comes down and saves the day kinda thing). The answer was some but not enough to make a hit.


Into the Wild started as a 1994 article in Outside magazine that was then expanded into a book by its author, Jon Krakauer. When the book came out Krakauer did a signing in Anchorage at the store where I was working which was lightly attended (and not just because Krakauer hadn't yet had his Everest misadventure) because Alaskans were very critical of Into the Wild's protaganist, Christopher. Not because he felt the call of the wild, every non native Alaskan I ever met all had their own personal version of that story including myself, but because he got himself killed in his answering it. I found Alaskans can be that way sometimes, it was one of the things that made them interesting people but difficult customers. But maybe that's more than just Alaskans-too often people seem quick to condemn when the subject is other person's freedom.


I thought "Into the Wild" a good adaptation of Christopher's story. Obviously it really spoke to Sean Penn since he showed such sensitivity in telling it. (Also fabulous fabulous casting) He also gave it emotional heft which is key to answering the viewers' internal question "Why should I care about this person feeling stifled when he seemed to have it all?" The quest-for freedom, for a life to actually live-is universal, it's just the players who change.

Blogger to Blogger

I'm still loving Ryan Adams' blog. In fact I was going to include a very funny rant of his from last week about how much it sucks to be single, how when you're hanging out at home by yourself on a Tuesday it's fine but if you change the night to a Friday or Saturday suddenly there's pressure and a judgement, aka you're a loser. But when I went back to get it all the old archives had been dumped and the only thing left were the current writings from Paris.

Bring them back Ryan!

Pitchfork Media dismissed the blog as gibberish which I guess it can read like if you're just dipping into it now and then but if you read it all (which takes no time now) it's easy to see it for what it is-a depressed person latching onto a project to keep themselves busy and distracted. And when you are as good a writer as Ryan, even the throwaway stuff is interesting. ( Like his blurb from last night regarding the deal with yoga and how when he was a kid it was just "someone having a fit at the Winn Dixie".)

Me vs. the Big 4-0

So here I am, in the last two weeks of my 30s.

I'm all thrilled to pieces, of course, about the rapidly increasing approach of, as it is inevitably called, the BIG 4-0. Apparently it's some sort of big deal or something. I guess it's a good sign that people are shocked when they hear the number, the that must be a typo message on Facebook, the totally inappropriate comment from my direct report about going for me if he was a little older (he's British and can get away with that because of the posh accent) so long as I forget the fact that I've been divorced longer than he's been alive. And you know when you start thinking cynical thoughts like that or the fact that because of that brief marriage that, even if you are single and 40, no one can call you an old maid, that it is indeed bothering you.

But it's not the age thing. I'm quite sure the universe doesn't give a fig if I'm 39 or 41 and as an acknowledged late bloomer I should just be getting better. No, it's when you're not where you want to be that any birthday any rankle, any holiday can mock. It's not that I'm not looking forward to going home and celebrating with family and friends (what my pal Carrie has coined my "birthDerby") I am. I'm always optimistic about birthdays. I always think this will be the one. The one where I get my pony, where everyone I want is there regardless of distance or expense and the gifts-they totally rock. No, my fear is that, like most things when you are blue, it will seem muffled and fake which, as I think we can all agree, is no way to live.

Color Me a Heartbreaker

So, in the latest from the 'can a girl get a break here?' front (or is from the 'when irony bites you on the ass' file? I get those confused sometimes.) I made a grown man cry today and not in a good way.

We have a regular customer, David, who is mentally challenged. He is also mostly deaf and has a wicked speech impediment so he's not the easiest to wait on. It's not uncommon to see sellers diving behind cases and making beelines to the other side of the store when they see him coming. Plus he can't read but always has complicated questions about resources or books. Questions that if you had a super fast computer and a week to work on you could probably solve but with an ever shrinking inventory and other customers waiting, yeah, it's not going to happen. But I get on with David fine. He's a good soul and I have a okay ear for language so I can mostly make him out. Plus he knows my name so if he sees me, he latches on.

So last week I'm wearing my pink sparkly sweater-it's new enough the novelty hasn't worn off and it was probably the last day it would be cool enough to stand wearing it-when David came in with his question of the week (real estate resources for the handicapped). Midconversation he stopped and looked at me.

"SAM, YOU LOOK PRETTY TODAY."
"THANK YOU DAVID. I APPRECIATE THAT."

He then gives me a hug and announces to the sellers around the Info Desk, now all convulsed with laughter and determinedly not helping me, "I LIKE SAM."

"SAM ARE YOU MARRIED?"
"NO DAVID, I'M NOT MARRIED."
"DO YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND?"

Of all the times in my life I could have used one of the handy little white lies now was the time. Just a simple yes would have done it. But I was so flabbergasted by the hug-it beats getting hit, pinched or pepper sprayed, all of which have happened to me but it's still so not what I thought was gonna happen-that I responded honestly.

"NO DAVID, I'M SINGLE."

Oh shit, now what did I do?

"WOULD YOU LIKE TO GO OUT FOR COFFEE SOMETIME?"

Again I'm at sea. Totally at a loss. All I could squeak out was, "I'LL THINK ABOUT IT AND LET YOU KNOW."

So after a week of ha-ha, funny funny from the staff today David comes in again. I head him off at the pass with the meager information I have found regarding in his question in the feeble hope that he will be so distracted he will forget the other question from last week.

But no, of course not.

So I said, very kindly, that while I appreciated the offer, it probably wasn't the best idea since he's a customer. Then he proceeded to get very upset, apologize profusely and started to cry. So I was standing there akwardly patting his arm, trying to reassure him that he didn't do anything wrong all the while thinking,

"The single life? It's faaabulous."

Random Thought after a Looong Day

Ryan Adams dyed his hair blonde last night.

I dyed my hair blonde last night.

Coincidence? Or further proof of our deep psychic connection? You be the judge.

I have got to say though, that mine turned out better. But his is more complicated since as well as matching eyebrows he also has to consider matching chest hair.

oooogies.

She & Him "Vol. 1"

Sometimes getting to know new music can take work, even for a fan. You're excited about the new release or the recommendation but listening to the unfamiliar, like getting to know someone new, takes time. Usually there's one song to latch onto and listen to repeatedly which then functions as a gateway to the rest of record. If it's a good record. If it's not, you just have that one song. Or a new coaster. Or a throwing star if you're a multimedia martial artist. Whichever.

But sometimes, and these are the best times, you don't need a warmup cause the songs are so wonderful and so much of you that it's like they've always been with you even though you're actually hearing them for the first time. Or, as the Great Gonzo sings so eloquently, (and I've got no problem being less eloquent than the Great Gonzo)

"there's not a word yet/for old friends who've just met"

It's like that for me with the new one by She & Him, "Vol 1". Now I don't know when M. Ward and Zooey Deschanel did the old Vulcan Mindmeld with me-they are very skilled cause I remember nothing-but they've got me down. The opening song "Sentimental Heart" could be my current theme song (and not in an "Ally McBeal" dancing with an imaginary baby way either) with it's plaintive piano plinking that then soars into big vocal fireworks at the end.

It's beautiful. And I love it.

She & Him have an old fashioned sound, rather like Grey Delise in that it's period but from a period that never actually existed. It's Brill Building (Zooey could totally be a missing Cookie!) meets vintage sundress.

And I love it.

Did I mention I love it?

Art in the City

"Life's Pleasures
The Ashcan Artists' Brush with Leisure, 1895-1925"
Detroit Institute of Arts

So before this exhibit my knowledge of the Ashcan School was limited-I knew they painted gritty urban scenes, subject matter that set them apart from their peers in the early 20th century, and that the most famous example of their work was George Bellows' "Stag at Sharkey's", the famous boxing painting with the lean, grappling boxers. Featured on a postage stamp, that painting was also highlighted in my childhood copy of of Readers Digest's Story of America which I remember well. (I pretty much memorized all the pictures in that book. Yes, I am a nerd.) But after my visit last week to the renovated DIA, I know all about it.

The Ashcan School primarily consisted of 8 painters, shockingly known as "The Eight", who actually weren't a formal school at all-they only ever all showed together once. But because of the similiarity in subject and time the press lumped them together. In fact, only 5 of the 8 painted the kind of scenes stereotypically considered 'ashcan' a fact borne out by the DIA exhibit. When you hear the name 'ashcan' you don't think polo or croquet or sunlit picnics in Central Park but there they were. Overall, the exhibit was a handsome one but its modest size ("Stag at Sharkey's" was not included) and scope made it seem rather B list. I was also a little bummed that the only Edward Hopper included was a very dull sketch. Given the massive ongoing Hopper exhibition and the fact he was only loosely grouped with the Ashcans I guess I shouldn't have been surprised.

I was happy, however, to have an excuse to check out the new renovations and arrangement of the museum. Like a lot of museums, the DIA is experimenting with mixing things up-instead of just going in strict chronological order they are grouping things by theme or pattern. When that works it can definately make you see things in a new light but when you don't buy into the theme it can become a game of 'one of these things is not like the other'. I was reminded though of how much I love Jean-Leon Gerome's "Solitude", (see above) one of the museum's signature pieces and a postcard of it for my fridge was my only purchase. (Big spender me!)

All Hail the Restorative Power of Rock and Roll

Kathleen Edwards
April 6, 2008
The Magic Bag, Ferndale, MI

I did not want to go to this show. I mean I wanted to go, I love Kathleen. Kathleen kicks ass. Kathleen is what Sheryl Crow is purported to be (ballsy rocker chick) but often isn't. But the timing felt wrong. Friday and Saturday had sucked and the Sunday workday was draining to say the least. The last thing I wanted to do after was to haul over the other side of town. But I had my ticket and I knew if I just got there it would totally be worth it.

It totally was.

Kathleen was in a merry mood, one might say ebullient, which, given the dark nature of many of her songs, gave the show a definate 'something you don't hear everyday' feel. Laughing through "In State" for example. Fortunately, things were calm and quiet for my favorite from the new record, "Alicia Ross". There was the requisite hockey reference-when she performed "I Get the Dough" she explained a video for it would be forthcoming featuring both Marty McSorley and the Great One himself and the typical Kathleen unedited comment-this time that John Mayer is a 'cocksucker' which I can't vouch personally for but am willing to believe. All in all a terrific rock show and just what I needed to get me right.

Me? Stubborn? Really?

The other thing that came to me this week, like an anvil to the head, is that something I've been looking forward to since last summer is just not going to happen.

See when I saw that my author crush was going up againest my friend Mike's author crush for the Barry Awards I had to send a trash talking 'let's make a bet cuz my guy's gonna kick your guy's ass' e-mail cause, well, that's just the kind of girl I am. Then, after we settled on the stakes (dinner at Pat's Steakhouse), Mike attempted to get the authors roped in cause, well, that's just the kind of guy he is. I was immediately taken with the idea (bourbon, steaks, men-what could be bad?) and have used it as a carrot ever since. The tantalizing idea of this dinner fueled many a daydream that's helped keep me going the last few months. I mean how cool would that be? (I repeat bourbon, steaks, men-what could be bad?) Even if I made a total ass of myself, which I would almost be sure to do, that would still make a great story.

But all at once this week as I looked at the calendar and charted the lack of progress on the arranging front I realized what everybody else probably knew last summer and I was just too dumb or foolish to acknowledge-it's a nonstarter. I apparently had enough luck or juice or whatever to make one big thing happen and that wad has been blown. I don't begrudge it a bit either, to those who save us much is owed but I have to say I'm finding it hard to give this one up.

Me, Using a Smile as My Fucking Umbrella

Well, it's been a didn't-get-the-job-need-a-new-car-rent-gettin-raised kind of week. (Dang! That sounds like a Bottle Rockets song waitin to happen doesn't it? Hey Brian Henneman, you don't need any lyric writing help but you can have that, with my thanks.) And if that wasn't enough my 3 closest friends and my folks are all on trips right now-3 of which involve the ocean which I haven't seen for years. It's enough to make anybody a grumpy cappebara.

grrrr.

Thank goodness for a few bright spots that prevented me from losing it completely:

-A uber funny e-mail exchange wherein I asked a simple question about something another person is totally passionate about and they went on and on in such an eagerly earnest way it was hysterically, spit take funny. One of those times you're totally in love with how cool people can be.

-Sunday's Kathleen Edwards show (review to follow) All hail the restorative power of rock and roll!

-Last Friday when I was having such a bad evening I did the classic girly 'when the going gets tough the tough go shopping' thang and bought a couple of new shirts, one of which really shows off the goods if you're picking up what I'm laying down. There's a cruder name for it-I was going to go with the cinemantic 'They're called boobs Ed' shirt but based on Joe's reaction I think it's now forever going to be known as the "Whoa. Buttons." shirt. I hardly ever get that kind of attention-most compliments I get are work related which are nice but not that replayable. I'm not saying I'd want that all the time but for the burrito guy to say "Hey pretty lady" felt pretty good actually.

-A totally fabulous gift of a dream. Now I'm not much a dream girl myself, probably since I so rarely remember them, but this one was extraordinary. As regular readers know I have begun a self injected drug and it's been a struggle for me. I'm doing it but... it's rough. So in the dream there was a bunch of things going on but in the middle of all the hubbub was someone I know from back home whose fight againest cancer left him with a limp. In the dream though he walked in a circle to demonstrate he was limp free and then held up a telegram for me to read which said "No limp. (stop) You too." and then smiled at me in the most encouraging way. If only my psyche was aways so nice to me!

A Real Shocker (not)

So I took the 'Which Jane Austen Character Are You?' quiz on Facebook and the answer is (wait for it) Elinor Dashwood. Shocking! I don't know why I bothered, this one was kind of a gimmee.
To wit;

"You are an understated beauty, quiet and selfless, putting other's struggles and trouble above your own. You love deeply and are not easily in and out of love. You are steady and dependable, other lean on you for strength. You long for a kindred spirit to lighten your load, a love who is a good listener."

In Which I Can't Believe My Movie Watching Eyes

Rose McGowan cohosting Turner Classic Movies "Essentials"? And what are her qualifications exactly? Which of her fine motion pictures earned her that right? The last one where she was an amputee in hot pants with the machine gun for a leg? I know when I think Rose McGowan, and I try never to think Rose McGowan, I think of that chain mail dress she wore back when she was with Marilyn Manson-the one with her ass hanging out. You know nothing says class like that. Robert Osbourne if you needed a co-host, all you had to do was call.

Long Time No Blog

With all the big doings this week I've been in too much of a dither to blog. (And isn't dither a good evocative word for it too?) So now, a smorgasboard of smatterings:

-My nephew Devin got baptised on Sunday. He was a total champ, not even crying when the water was poured over. My two favorite parts were Devin being raised up over the priest's head at the end like a spoil of war ("Baby-we got the baby!"- it was like we should all erupt in a "Braveheart" like cry) and Father Mike's futile effort to avert his eyes from Devin's godmother's chest tattoo (she's like a classy version of a Suicide Girl). Bet they didn't cover that in seminary.

-There were way too many family photos last weekend and I believe once again that my mercurial beauty remained elusive. Dammit, I hate that.

-I discovered the key to remaining calm during a job interview. You just pack the time around it with things that scare you way worse and you'll feel calm in comparison. Talking to a VP? Whatever! Elucidate my qualifications for this position? Sure, no problem!

-I gave myself the second shot which was, as my friend Jeanne predicted, tougher than the first. When you know it's coming and there's no one around to make you do it, it is way more of a mental battle. It also hurt more than the first one but maybe that was just protective memory kicking in. I was amused that the meds came from the specialty pharmacy in big cooler that made me look like I ordered a DIY transplant kit. Unfortunately, there was no gift with purchase.

-Since I am now generating biohazardous medical waste I get to have my very own sharps container. It's bright red and very scary. I'm thinking of decorating it. Perhaps one of my crafty friends could make a cozy for it-I smell an entrepreneural goldmine!