Slowly, slowly it's too nice a job to rush*

Twitterpation has been on my mind lately. I've been bearing witness to some tender beginnings and thinking that all those preliminary getting-to-know you questions all seem like they boil down to just one in the end which is "Are you for me?"

But twitterpation, like all the effervescent emotions (joy, whimsy & giddiness among them), has a very short shelf life once opened and should definately NOT be hurried along. The answers to all those questions, whether spoken or unspoken, form the tapestry of the relationship for better or worse.

Plus, twitterpation is just so damn fun. I ask you, what's better than that first passionate make out session? (And why is it that your hair never looks so good as after a good makeout session?) Staggering out to your car at 2 in the morning with only 1 sock, your lips sore from all the kissing-good stuff that. Ride it out and make it last I say.


*Name that movie night owls!

Sloane, You Had Me at Pony

Hey Sloane Crosley,

I'm currently snorting my way through your fabulously titled I Was Told There'd Be Cake.


It is sooo funny.


I knew you & I were destined to be friends while reading the first essay, "The Pony Problem", because you do the pony thing too. We both have a schtick that we're famous for as in your "Will there be pony rides?" in response to "It'll be a great party" or my "Is it my pony?" in response to "Sam, there's a delivery for you". (I'm also fond of "Have fun storming the castle" and "Stay gold Ponyboy" as farewells.)

I never met anyone else who had their own pony schtick-it's very exciting. I'm sure it's a sign we're meant to be BFFs. Snarky, sitting in the back, making fun of everyone else BFFs to be sure but BFFs nonetheless.

Me & "SATC"? Not So Much

I've never been a "Sex and the City" fan, I always found it the least interesting HBO show. Now I'm as "you go girl" as the next woman but its emphasis on wacky fashion and shoes and romantic dithering not only left me cold but made me feel more than a liitttle superior for preferring the harder charms of "The Wire" and "Deadwood".

(Or perhaps it's just further proof that I am actually a guy-there has been speculation on that front despite my adoration of the color pink and of my raccoon-like love of all things sparkly.)

But I have pulled back from that a bit this week when I realized I had a detailed conversation with my best friend in Atlanta about boys while she was huddled in her bathroom because there was a TORNADO WARNING.

Yeah, I think even Carrie & those other city girls might have said, "You know? I'm gonna have to call you back" in that scenerio.

What I've Come Up With

So all this recent celebrating of a milestone birthday leads one to thinking. Thinking about where you are and what you want. It's for damn sure I don't have all the answers but I have figured out a few things.


I have a great bunch of family and friends, as recently and amply demonstrated, so my only wish would be more of each, especially of the in town variety. Also, I need to not be the hard luck friend any longer. I had my turn, as the song goes "we all get a taste", but I'm done now. The new medication is very promising bringing welcome relief and blessed energy. I'll never be in love with its delivery system but it's more than doable. I have a terrific cat who's just perfect for me and a new car so those pieces are in place too.


I want a lover, a house and a dog though not necessarily in that order. I want to eventually get closer to the place I feel most at home, though if my retail nomad years have taught me anything it's that there are all kinds of homes. I also want what Mary Oliver calls "good work, ongoing"-something I can feel proud of and something that brings less financial fear and worry. I also want to finish my book(s) and see what it's like to not carry them around anymore. I feel that all of these characters, who are of course all pieces of me, have something to teach me and it's something I am keen to learn. I also wonder if they will be as interesting to other people as they are to me. I am curious what will pop up out of the bingo machine that is my mind after they are done.

So...not a map exactly but, at least it's a plan.

First Motorcycle Ride

Climb aboard. Straddle that throbbing, pulsing engine. Feel every movement in your thighs. Hold on tight with your whole body as not to fall off.

No, that's not sexual. No, not at all.

Me Charming the Unsuitable

The other night while I was standing in line for the McMurtry show next to an older gentleman the label leaflet guy gave us a flyer for the forthcoming Justin Townes Earle show, (I got the same one at the DBT show-guess I must be their target audience). He expressed surprise that Steve Earle could have a son of that age and I reminded him that Steve Earle is plenty old enough for that especially considering he's been married what? Five times now? One of this gentleman's dates (he had 2) laughed and told me the problem stemmed from him not fully acknowledging or accepting his own age. He nodded ruefully then said he thought he had a redneck gene since he liked Steve Earle, Lucinda Williams and, of course, James McMurtry. I pointed to his immaculate outfit-jeans with a crease, loafers with no socks and a sportcoat and quipped, "Must be recessive." He was completely charmed by my witticism and might have offered to let me be, Hefner- like, date #3 but for Joe coming back just then from feeding the meter.

This is just the latest example of this sort of thing and I think for optimism's sake I'm going to just think of it as a stellar example of thinking on my feet and having the wit just when I needed it instead of the more troubling possibility-that of only being able to charm men who are aged, live far away or are mentally challenged. Now that would truly be an inconvenient gift.

No Really. Be My Valentine James McMurtry

James McMurtry and the Heartless Bastards wsg/The Dedringers

May 8, 2008

The Magic Bag-Ferndale, MI

Yes, Ryan Adams is my rock and roll crush and Willy Vlautin is my rock and roll/author crush but James McMurtry, well, after seeing him live again I still want him to be my Valentine. If there was any justice in the world this man would be a superstar but since I get the idea he's a private soul who probably wouldn't like that it actually works out.

Writing is, of course, the way of his people so it's no surprise what a skilled songwriter he is but the lyrics really come to life live. The line "And I don't want another drink/I only want that last one again" from "Hurricane Party" had all the people around us nodding in group pleasure at a great line well delivered and hearing the new song "Ruby & Carlos" live finally brought the full import of the lyrics home (Carlos is impotent-duh!).

James' lyrical skill was thrown into even sharper relief in comparison to the openers The Dedringers, who I quickly dubbed "the baby BoDeans", who seemed to be recent graduates from the School of Obvious Rhymes. You don't guess the next word because of the inevitability of good writing, you guess the next word because "cat" rhymes with "hat". They sure are cute though with one brother on electric guitar and one on acoustic-they're like a "Disney Channel goes to Austin" show waiting to happen.

But like the DBT show earlier in the week this second show wasn't as good as the first time I saw him. I don't know if it was weariness (though you'd have to give the man a Red Bull to get him to laconic) or the technical difficulties (several amp fuses were blown) or my own baggage of being at the same place seeing the same performer with the same person who is something completely different to me now but if you were watching closely, as I was, you could see his heart wasn't totally in it especially on the obligatory "hits" segment. Judging by the crowd's collective middle aged dancing and joy I may have been the only one to notice though.

I think I have now reached the point with him, much like another fave, John Hiatt, where what I really want is a command performance. I don't need to hear "Levelland" every time, I'd rather hear something obscure I haven't heard before. But James is far too much of a pro, or a beer salesman as he modestly and cynically refers to himself, to risk letting people down by not doing the song they know best. The bonus, too, of the command performance would be its emphasis on his bittersweet love songs. His political songs are clever and biting but I'm a chick and I like the love songs best, what can I say? When the man has lines like "shine your eyes upon me/whisper long and low/mindful of the longing/that we ever more may know" can you really blame me?

Some reviewers recently have pointed to his distinctive voice as a liability but I couldn't disagree more. True, there won't be a James McMurtry night anytime soon on "American Idol" (though I'd love to see them take on the 12 minute long sexually explicit "Choctaw Bingo") but he doesn't write songs he can't get across. I like that in his voice and playing he sounds distinctive, you always know it's him, yet it never seems repetitive. That, and the empathic heart that produced a great song like "Fireline Road" with it's haunting chorus "forget my name can you/forget my face/gonna lose myself in some finer place/finer places where I'll go/and leave no trace on Fireline Road" makes me say, still, be my Valentine James McMurtry.

Sex, Pizza and Rock 'n' Roll

The Drive-By Truckers wsg/ The Dexateens

May 6, 2008

The Crofoot Ballroom-Pontiac, MI

Sex is like pizza, even when it's bad it's still pretty good or so the saying goes. Live shows are like that too, even if they're not the best there's still no denying their rush and buzz. I was thinking of that on Tuesday when I saw DBT for the second time. The first time I saw them was a great show, one where the crowd and band come together and you know, even at the time, you're seeing something special. (Elmore Leonard was there for Pete's sake. You know if Dutch is in the room something cool is going down.) But this time was different.

It was my first time at the Crofoot-it's a nice looking room but one that apparently doesn't have the best acoustics, at least for this show. I like it loud but clear. I'm the kind of fan who'd rather have a dive with good sound than a fancy setting-yes, I know all the words already but I'd like to hear them. Especially when the writing is as good as the DBT's.

The show was also marred by a sparse crowd curiously passive except for a group of jerks front row center who kept chanting, for seemingly no good reason, "USA USA USA" between each song. After half a sets worth Mike Cooley had finally had enough and delivered a smackdown the likes of which you rarely hear. I'm paraphrasing but it went something like, "If all you ever did is slide out of your momma's pussy in the USA you ain't got one goddamn thing to be proud of. Now I'm the boss here I'm going to play you a song you're going to love so shut the fuck up." I get the feeling that's not the first time he's had to do that.

My other chief complaint was the setlist, which seemed like it was intentionally chosen with my least favorites in mind. The middle of the show, which was one midtempo song after the next, dragged especially. I also found myself missing Jason Isbell. I always found the interplay between the three songwriters one of the most interesting things about DBT and Shonna Tucker's new contributions, though welcome, are not quite as strong as her ex-husband's which I sorely missed hearing.

That's not to say there weren't highlights-"Sorry Huston", "Putting People on the Moon", "Gravity's Gone" and "Righteous Path" were all standouts. And the Truckers are such pros that I don't imagine they ever really have bad shows. I also enjoyed the Dexateens whose enthusiam charmed even during the times they weren't actually playing together. How rock n' roll of them!

*photos by Joe*

The Greatest Gift

The digital camera rocks. The pony was hysterical. The iPod is amazing (and that's before I've even learned how to use it! It's still in the wrapper). The suitcase full of photos and letters from friends and family, far and near is without a doubt the coolest thing I've ever been given (even cooler than the rubber chicken vest my college sweetheart made me). But the best gift, and the one I wanted most of all, is the gift of scheming. Knowing that people you love are putting their heads together and taking time out from writing their new book, their tour of Europe or from watching the kids to do something just for you-well, that's the greatest gift.

And I am so so thankful.

So Not a Moment

I thought there was a moment.

You know-a boy, a girl-a moment. Then, well, months passed and I realized there was no moment except in my overheated imagination.

I'm rusty but not stupid.

What's the opposite of a moment? A nonmoment? An unmoment? Complete and absolute indifference?

Yeah, that's it.

But back when I thought there was a moment, when I was humming with the perceived moment, I made a CD for him. A CD that then, after I realized there was no moment, mocked me as it sat on my CD shelf. It said, "there was no moment, there was no moment". So, to stop the blasted mocking, I gave it to him.

The look on his face was something like if I had given him giftwrapped batshit.

Yeah, there was no moment.

Sadly, One Less Belle

Tragic. Ill fated. From now on Eight Belles will not be able to be written about without one of these modifers. They are accurate, yes, but as I said postDerby to my 5 year old niece who was struggling with grasping exactly what "put down" meant for the filly she was rooting on to beat the boys, Eight Belles died doing what she loved to do, what she was born to do. Though there may have been some pain and fear at the end (one hopes it was negated by post race adreneline) that qualifies, to me, as a good death. In her toughest race she proved she could not only run with the boys, she could beat 18 of them. I say let's try and remember that first, instead of simply making her a sad Derby history footnote.

Happy Birthday to Me

As far as I'm concerned it's always the right time for Mary Oliver but this one especially has been on my mind lately. So, in honor of my special day:

"You don't want to hear the story
of my life, and anyway
I don't want to tell it, I want to listen

to the enormous waterfalls of the sun.

And anyway it's just the same old story-
a few people just trying,
one way or another,
to survive.

Mostly, I want to be kind,
and nobody, of course, is kind,
or mean, for a simple reason.

And nobody gets out of it, having to
swim through the fires to stay in
this world.

except from "Dogfish"

Damn Straight It's Wicked

Some crime novels are told with a wink and a nod, a "nothing going on here kind of thing". Some sex it up to give a little drugs, a little whoring, a little gambling a kind of appeal. The kind of book you'd like to step into, at least for a little while. Not Ace Atkins' Wicked City.

Wicked indeed.

The novel tells the story of Phenix City, Alabama dubbed "the wickest city in America" in the 1950s. The wicked in Wicked City is like a flood rising, rising, rising sweeping all the people-good and bad-before it. People coping, or not coping, with the dark forces that are beyond them makes for a tough and brutal read. It's a well researched, starkly presented historical story completely without sentiment or nostalgia. These were most definately not the good old days. Atkins spares nothing-bestiality, rape, murder, corruption-it's all carefully detailed. Though there is some humor and snappy dialogue, fans of his Nick Travers series may well be left with their jaws in their laps for Wicked City is a whole other kind of ride.

The Call to the Post

After much consideration and rewatching of all the major preps (and workouts!) I offer my Derby picks, with the usual disclaimer that I am more the racing historian/fan than a true handicapper. (Although I did have Street Sense last year.) If a person is just as happy to simply go to the track and not place a single bet perhaps you should think twice before throwing in with them montarily. But, here we go:

-Colonel John. Yes, he hasn't raced on dirt yet but his works at Churchill all show a horse who likes the surface. I also think he's going to be peaking at the right time which, coupled with good racing luck in a heavy traffic, is the most important thing.

-Pyro. Lots of people hopped off the Pyro bandwagon after his crap performance in the Blue Grass but that was his first time on Polytrack and I think it's safe to call him a Polyhater. He should bounce getting back on the dirt.

And to get some $$ for my exotics I'm also looking at Denis of Cork and Visionaire.

What about Big Brown? Too inexperienced, I think, to get the Derby especially with his running style starting from in Post Position 20 (WTF?) Only 1 horse has ever won from 20 and that was Clyde Van Dusen in 1929 and you totally don't want your horse to ever be in that kind of sentence with that kind of plater.

So grab your hats ladies and get set for the big day!