LaurieWrites

I Heart Fredneck

So I went to Fredneck last weekend to look at a house to rent. It's a darling little house, and I NEVER say "darling" so you know this house was some kind of DARLING. It was so darling it had kind of weird, short ceilings, and SHAMROCK SHUTTERS, not just painted shamrock green (hello, my favorite) but also, shamrocks were actually cut into them. *Cries*

I love Frederick. I loved this house. Except the house was on a sketchy sort of street, and smack on a busy thoroughfare, actually, and I wasn't really digging the setup. There were lots of people wandering up and down the street, literally peering in the windows while I was looking at it, and that kind of weirded me out. Plus I was a little freaked out by the traffic, so I decided it wasn't the right spot for me. I keep wondering if that was the right decision, especially because it was, however, right down the street from a sweet little ice cream place called Rita's, which is really good...so that was definitely a draw (If you're from the East Coast, you may know this already.) I hate tough calls.

Anyway, I brought my camera, just for kicks, and I got a couple shots of Frederick that sort of bring home its sweet weirdness - actually the whole of Western Maryland's - and why I therefore love it so. If you've been to the DC suburbs, you haven't been to Maryland. You need to go to the Eastern Shore, or the Western part of the state, or even Baltimore, for that matter, to really get what we're about. If my life were very different, I'd live in Frederick or somewhere else out that way and have three kids and maybe even some goats (I really love goats. Goats are so sweet)...but it's not, so for now I live in the valley of strip malls and I visit when I can.   

A Days Inn attached to a Waffle House. Any questions? (I do...I want to know if that red truck is a Chevy, which would make this the ultimate Days Inn/Waffle House pickup smackdown.)

Bush, LIAR, LIAR, LIAR!

I love that this guy's house was for sale in a relatively conservative city and he left his (vociferous) political banner up. He's all, "Yeah, come on'a ma house, but if you wanna buy it, you're buying from a BUSH HATER, baby. LIARLIARLIAR." I'm sure his agent was like, "Um, I'm not certain the, umm, (air quotes) "banner", quite, umm, "works" for the open house." And he (or she...I'd dig it if it was a she) didn't care.

LIAR LIAR LIAR.

I totally love this town.

Can't trust that day

Isn't it amazing how you can walk in somewhere, and you're in a good mood - even though it's REALLY early in the morning? And you actually ate breakfast cause you had time to pick up your almonds and yogurt so you're in power food mode and everything? And you just listened to "My Humps" again, so you can keep that feel-good Weekend of Hilarity mood? And you're really kind of excited to get some stuff done, and you got some sleep, so you actually feel productive? And also you're wearing a very cute skirt, even though...well, strike that. That's a good story but maybe later you can tell it. And then, like three hours later, some stuff goes down, and people are consistently acting out on the stage of the hot new reality show, "Planet Me", and you're all of a sudden in a REALLY bad mood? Or just stressed beyond belief? And you want to break the stage props all around you, because surely this IS just one long, bad, overpriced tacky television show (like Surreal Life tacky - but where the HELL is MIni-Me? And Cecee Deville? GET EM ON THE SET!!!!!!!)...not real life?

God. What is WITH people? How come they're such JERKS sometimes? And try to just HARSH YOUR BUZZ when you're minding your own business? Why would they do that to you? To YOU! Nice, harmless, randomly entertaining you?

I don't know. But here's a pretty picture. Maybe they'll all go away.

Links, with a little pithy commentary (Like you'd expect less, at this point.)

Okay, someone posted the link to another Ok Go video, so not only does that mean that y'all get to watch it (and you should), but also that I get to post that links post that I've been putting off. As much as I love links, and the gloriosity (and of course, stupidity) that can be found within, they're a pain in the ass to put up. I mean, it's a whole extra step, and I am a fragile flower (with only an outward persona of ass-kicking bring the pain brutality, really.) How much clicking can I stand before the carpal tunnel takes me HANDS, mate - my most critical tool for work and play? Jesus. It's only a matter of time before I have to move onto hobbies like skeet shooting that use the WHOLE hand, not just my individual fingers all the time. And besides my physical endangerment, I know how valuable your time is to you. I know how productive you need to be. And who needs more tasty links to waste that precious time on? Not you, my overachieving friend.

Right. I know. Shut up and link.

Maggie was the latest to post the video for OK Go's "Here it Goes Again". In the comments on the post, Katie Spence posted the link to their video for "A Million Ways" on YouTube. I love them deeply at this point, almost enough to make me cross over to skinny men. Almost.

Derek Powazek is one of the most interesting and creative people I've come across on the InterWeb, and that isn't just mindless, prattling praise, as I'm stone sober. He's married to Heather Champ, which makes them my candidate for coolest couple ever. Heather led a workshop and a flickr meetup at BlogHer, and I enjoyed that so much. She runs the Mirror Project, and also the huge and sprawling group of communities on flickr, which also wins my vote for "job I'd like to have the most besides being the Dixie Chicks' blogger." I do tend to lapse into embarrassing, prattling praise about her, because I have so much respect for people who constantly show productive evidence of their artistic and entrepreneurial abilities - plus, she's just mad interesting. I can say that about maybe five percent of the people I've ever met, so when I see it, I say it.

Classic I rediscovered when cleaning out mail files: Chris from Family Guy steps into "Take on Me" video.

Did you know that John Tesh has a radio show? I did not, until I was driving to Santa Cruz earlier this month, and I heard what I thought was someone making FUN of John Tesh, which should clue you in to my perceptions of reality, and the general state of DC-area radio. Then I realized that lo, this was indeed John Tesh, and what I should have been hearing, according to his site, is Intelligence For My Life.  I really wish I'd known that, because then maybe I wouldn't have spent the time until the station crapped out laughing self-righteously at a dude who makes way more money than I do, so WHO'S LAUGHING NOW??? Huh?

Photoblogs are a special interest (researchcoughtimesucker) of mine, of course. Some of them are good, and they therefore win awards. The winners are from all over the world, and some of them are really fascinating, but of course daily dose of imagery won the big old grand prize. Check it out.

If you're not reading Wendy's Pound site, you should be. Her last two posts on "bad times stores" are awesome, and not only served to reignite my hatred for CVS, but also gave me a COMMUNITY of other people who understand the concept of what a bad times store is. I didn't even have a term for it before now, but Wendy's is perfect:

"What constitutes Bad Times? It’s not just bad service or poor merchandise selection. It’s almost never a single thing that can be isolated and remedied. No, it’s an elaborate matrix of factors that make you miserable practically every single fucking time you shop there."

This is the Germantown Walmart, for me, where I can go in for a single item (which I never do, because now I'd have to be hogtied and dragged inside) and can end up in three checkout lines before someone's register actually works and they can check me out. This is the store I foolishly stumbled into the night before Halloween, when the aisles were strewn with fake lips and witch hats, and tons of people were gathered around the costume aisles, with stakes and matches, ready to burn in effigy the person who took the Ronald McDonald costume they were eyeing. This is where I was in the express line, and a terrible "customer service manager" ordered me to come over to the customer service desk to be rung up -- BEHIND TWO PEOPLE WHO WERE RETURNING MERCHANDISE. And the whole time, every time I was there, I was surrounded by assholes smacking their kids, who are of course acting out from the sheer stress and overstimulation of all the prices that end in .97 and the evil flourescent light and the ghost of right-wing granddaddy Sam Walton invading their tender little souls as they peer up at the neon orange tubs of Utz snack mix. Bad times.

Come to think of it, the Frederick Walmart was where I was the night before my cousin's wedding several years ago, and I stood there as, at midnight, they announced over the LOUDSPEAKER that since it was midnight, all cashiers should empty their cash drawers, in plain sight of all customers, and count their money. This of course not  only brought to a screaming halt my attempt to buy some sub-standard picture frames, but also announced to anyone with a predilection for robbery who just happened to be carrying a concealed weapon that now would be a really handy time to multi-task.

Bad times, but still not as bad as CVS.

The second post down makes me laugh until I cry. I'm only sending you to this page because it includes more of Matthew's (that's Defective Yeti to you) favorites from among his own posts. If there is a God in heaven - or in my fucking refrigerator for that matter, I don't care where she is - I'll end up shacked up with a person like this. I don't even know what this guy looks like and I hesitate to say that I don't care, but I really sort of don't, if his Internet persona is way close to what he's like in real life. And we all know how unlikely that is, since in real life I am completely linear and focused on my professional priorities at all times, plus I'm not sarcastic at all, and I'm also a total bitch who laughs at the mission of animal rescue operations.

Anyway, I'd somehow managed to avoid hearing "My Humps" since it was released, which I am able to do through my finely honed skill at selective pop culture ignorance. This means that I totally have "Ridin'" and - yes, sorry - "New Booty" in my iTunes, because they were integral to the Freeport, Bahamas dance party experience, and what happens in the Bahamas...happens, fo' real. But "My Humps" - not so much. And I love "Let's Get it Started," and the sight of the BlackEyed Peas and the guy in the jumpsuit makes me giggle a little bit, so that's always a good time. So I don't know why I didn't hear the song, except for the fact that I thought the title couldn't bode well. But after the Defective Yeti post I had to, and when I saw the whole record on sale in Tower yesterday, I picked it up (along with Stankonia, bitches, and Kid A because I'm ready to see if I've grown cool enough for Radiohead. Doubtful. Anyway, Outkast has a new one out soon too! I'm all a-shizzle about that, admittedly.) I listened to "My Humps" in the car, and maybe I'll write a whole post about it, because "lovely lady lumps," as foul and ridiculous as that term is, made me laugh until I cried. (Brittany, I know it is wrong and bad. ; )) Right now, I'm just posting a snip from an IM chat, to prove first of all that I really am 12, even if you thought I was a grown professional person, to note that Matthew's contention that one must pass the song on is true in my case, and finally that an advanced degree guarantees nothing but frightening access to technology that can indeed be used to advance not only one's own stupidity, but the stupidity of one's friends:

mslauriewrites: have you heard My Humps?
randomscreenname: um, no
randomscreenname: what iis it?
mslauriewrites: you need to listen to that song.
mslauriewrites: it is ridiculous
randomscreenname: ok
mslauriewrites: but i think you'll enjoy the term "my lovely lady lumps"
randomscreenname: yeek
mslauriewrites: i mean, it will disgust you,
mslauriewrites: but it made me laugh.
mslauriewrites: and i know you're equally about the cheap thrill.
randomscreenname: all about it
mslauriewrites: "how'd you get that breasts all up in that shirt"
randomscreenname: awesome
mslauriewrites: truly
randomscreenname: hey laurie
mslauriewrites: it's your birthday
randomscreenname: i'd love to talk
mslauriewrites: i know you would.
randomscreenname: will you be up past 10 pm?
mslauriewrites: likely
mslauriewrites: holla
mslauriewrites: haha
randomscreenname: holla
randomscreenname: HOLLA
mslauriewrites: HOLLA ATCHA GIRRRRRRRRRLLLLLLLLLLL
randomscreenname: LEMME HOLLA ATCHA
mslauriewrites: lovely lady lumps, check it.
randomscreenname: HOLLAHOLLAHOLLA
randomscreenname: OK YO
mslauriewrites: makemewannaholla
randomscreenname: oops
mslauriewrites: have a nice day
randomscreenname: ok yo

I'm going to go read "The New Yorker" now, and listen to Outkast, and later see an intelligent film. It's all about the balance, I hope - although I'll likely bring the new cds in the car, and I'm hoping I get to the Radiohead eventually.

Southwest LUV

I admit it, this melted my Grinchified heart a little bit.

They SNAKES. And THEY ON A PLANE.

I got a call from Sam today. It was the funniest thing I've heard in a long time, and not even because my standards are slipping. There's just something about Samuel L. Jackson telling me to "leave that PO' excuse for an eduCAtional instiTUtion," to put down my "DAMNED CAMERA AND GET IN MY TIN CAN OF A CAR" to go see a movie. I mean, I don't know what that something IS about, exactly, but it's something.

I'm really glad someone thought to do this for me today and you should do it for someone who has a sense of humor also. My GOD please could more people make me laugh? I mean, I hate to be so demanding, but it is so magical and wonderful when that happens. So in that vein, herewith and within, begins "Humor Weekend," (humour, of course, if you're Canadian. Or British, yes.) where if it ain't funny, don't bring it around me. Take it outside.

Speaking of Canadians, one of the oddest things anyone said to me this week (and this is a close race, folks. The oddities were legion and raging 'round these parts the past seven days or so) was, "Speaking of cultural diversity and stereotypes, would you by any chance be Canadian? Because you, um, say some Canadian things."

This was of course right after I said, "The Mounties were playing that new Barenaked Ladies joint on the way to Niagara Falls, when they got a call from Toronto aboot the Nova Scotia situation at the Maple Leafs game. Eh?" But since I didn't really say that at all, I had to say "No, no, what you're hearing that you think is Canadian is actually the lilt of my Maryland hick-ese," to which he said, "Right. And I'm not sure Canadians say y'all." To which I said again, "THEY snakes. On the PLANE. RIGHT ABOOT NOW."

Blogher Podcasts - Green Light

I was the lead on recording the closing keynote at Blogher. My role on this crew meant that I wore headphones for two days and fiddled with knobs to KEEP THE GREEN LIGHT ON, for God's sake, KEEP THE GREEN LIGHT ON. I was so terrified of the orange and the red lights popping up on the machine that I sat on the edge of my seat, literally, for the first day I did this. And since this was truly a grassroots operation (that didn't act or feel amateurish, really, because of the excellent people involved.) we had several different models of recorders. So when I'd go into a room, there might be a totally different type of machine, with different kinds of knobs and buttons that I wasn't sure were the right ones to push and the GREEN LIGHT IN A DIFFERENT PLACE. Horror. 

But every time I finished a session with one of my fellow pod people, we ended up with a new disk to give to Toy, so that meant there was something concrete that came out of it. Of course, every time I turned one over I had to also turn over my fear that this one would be the blank one...that the green light, in this case, had lied.

It was so much fun to have been a part of creating this. It's amazing how sensitive recordings are to different vocal pitches, as well as volumes, and where one person's voice would make your recorder perfectly happy, another person's voice would send it into RED LIGHT RED LIGHT DANGER DANGER GREEN LIGHT IS GONE MODE. You have to be really precise and really responsive to make sure that it ends up sounding like all the people were in the same room, at least - especially if, as in many cases here, a microphone is weaving through the crowd and people are actually, frighteningly, speaking into it. I'm not a detail person, typically, but I liked the challenge of following the proceedings and responding to the changes in the sounds I was hearing. It was fun in a very obsessive-compulsive sort of way.

My worst fear of a blank disk at least didn't come true for this closing session, which was a pretty important one since it featured Arianna Huffington, and Grace Davis, and Mena Trott, and Washington Post/ Newsweek Interactive CEO Caroline Little (moderated by Chris Nolan.) I'm really happy about that. Toy had to have polished them up with her considerable editing skill, but at least my levels, as Kirk put it, do seem to have been okay.

I think I'm going to go talk into a tape recorder now. And if I'm taping you, I promise to wear the big headphones so you'll know.

Visual candy

(Edit: I totally updated this to include Celtic Spring...because they really need to be included.)

I'm eating old Starburst jelly beans from the bottom of my office drawer, which I believe speaks for itself. This means that I'm completely fried, so it's back to the "rogue helicopter pilot" guy I go. I know I've posted this before, and I'm surpassing my usual threshold of weakness for repeating it, but it simply must be done.

(Another edit, aka "why I am the way I am." I show this to my mother. She says, "Oh, poor guy. I would be scared too, if a rogue helicopter pilot came near this house. Wouldn't YOU be, Punkin (the dog, of course.) If he entered our air space? (ME: WTF? WTF?) He was so scared, he was shaking!")

I am so not cut from the same mental cloth.

This is also a good day to watch Ok Go on treadmills again. And the trailer for 30 Rock. If Tina Fey is in a show and also writes for it, and Rachel Dratch is in it too, my hopes for it are probably too high. And also, my friend Lauren's friend will show you how to do the Hustle here.

And excuse me, although I despise the whole concept of Regis's new meal ticket, "America's Got Talent," this family freaking plays the FIDDLE and Irish step dances at the SAME TIME. I can't do either, but I've watched a lot of both, and I have to give props where props are due. This show is currently on in my house - not of my choosing, mind you, but a girl's gotta eat, so when it's on near the food, you watch. And David "I cut myself with a chandelier that jumped off the wall and attacked me in my hotel room but I was so high on crack I kinda liked it" Hasselhoff, who is one of the judges, says something like how he just wasn't really FEELING it this week, because they didn't have the SYNERGY and the rhythm cause they went for their INDIVIDUALITY instead. And I'm all, David. Honey. We're lucky you're sitting upright, and you're searching for issues with six totally physically fit Irish kids who can dance and play the fiddle and probably mash potatoes WHILE they're kicking your ass? Kit would be exceedingly proud of your moxie, my friend. 

I'm sorry. It's been that kind of day.

Things not to say to me, Part One

A few days after my sister's engagement:

Person One: Well, at least I hope she's older than you.

Person Two: Oh no, she's YOUNGER. Laurie screwed up.

Almost heaven

As a child of the 70s, a few things are certain. I've had a lifelong love of peasant blouses, so their return to "trendy" the past couple of years has been a welcome development. I never turn off "Joy to the World" by Three Dog Night. It must be sung all the way through. And in my mind, West Virginia was almost heaven - not some haven for rednecks and forget those inbred jokes - because John Denver told me so. So maye this is why, night before last, I had a dream that went thusly:

I was at a picnic at John Denver's house. Really. And it was dark outside, or just turning dark. And he had a very large yard, in which many people were hanging out and partying and eating and all of those picnic-type activities. It seemed like an awesome party, until I looked up above me, and on the very, very, outlandishly high electrical wires above the yard, a tiger balanced. And of course, as soon as I saw him, he fell to the ground, and presumably began ambling around among the guests.

Now I don't know anything about tigers, except that they are big cats with large teeth, and their stripes are quite fetching. And at this point, my mental dream-screen went blank, so I have no idea what befell the people on the lawn. Next thing I remember is that a mountain lion was spotted too, and at that point I had entered John's house, with the baby I was carrying around with me, to let him know that something needed to be done about the wild animal infiltration. Yes, apparently my subconscious mind saw fit to resurrect him for the party. (The mountain lion MAY have come from the Weeds episode I watched last week, although that's a pretty frail attempt to grasp onto some meaning or point of reference here.)

I never remember my dreams, and this is really fine with me. The night this happened, I was getting several more hours of sleep than I've gotten in weeks, so that's probably why my brain shorted out and started out on its very own acid trip, sans drugs. I'm still a little freaked out by it, to tell the truth - and moreso by what in the world could have caused a confluence of a picnic, a tiger, a mountain lion, AND John Denver in my poor, muddled brain. I'm actually a little embarrassed by it, but clearly not embarrassed enough to keep it to myself.

Get Out the Map

Last month we saw the Indigo Girls for the umpteenth summer in a row, and it was great, as usual. When they kick the show off with "Closer to Fine," all of a sudden everything becomes so. It's one of the most perfect feelings in my year, when a square mile of human beings join in on a song that belongs to every single person who loves it, and the universe rights itself. Every year I realize that this is my church, my spiritual experience, and when people (i.e., my mother and my grandmother) ask why I'm not a part of organized religion anymore, I can say that I know I get what I need in places where I don' t have to donate to a roof fund and take orders from a man.

My sister and I share this concert more often than not, and one of the things I like about having a ten year jump on her in age is that I've been able to pass down what I think is pretty good and at least interesting taste in music. She's gone off in other directions that I wouldn't necessarily espouse - coughcoughtobykeith - but those are usually limited and random, and the bottom line is that she's pretty hip and at least quite open, musically. Her first musical memories are of me taking her (at her request, with me likely smoking Virginia Slims in my red Cavalier, but still...) to see Debbie Gibson and Paula Abdul (openers, Bros. and Color Me Badd, respectively) and I made sure that she was there in her hip little polka dot outfit, because that's what matters when you're ten. I was listening to Poison at the time, so whatever. Times - and tastes - change, and in our case, they have elevated nicely. Still love me some Poison though...hehheh... 

We individually and collectively and truly love Amy and Emily, and how obviously open and still so sweetly humble they are about the whole thing, years after they got so famous. We love how they both say "thanks, y'all" in these tiny Southern accents right after they blow the roof off with "Go" or "Shame on You", and usually they say it more than once. This year, Katie's friend Eric was with us, and when they launched into "Power of Two," he said, "Emily Saliers holds the key to my emotional vault. Emily Saliers and Extreme Home Makeover. If the Indigo Girls appeared on Extreme Home Makeover, I would surely die."

Such is the power of these women. 

I made my sister a scrapbook in 1999, when she graduated from high school, and it had the lyrics to the Indigo Girls song "Get Out the Map" throughout it. I'm rarely able to listen to this song without crying, because songs that juxtapose melancholy lyrics and jangly guitars kick my ass, mostly. And I can never separate these words from my sister, and an experience that matters to our relationship, and the wishes that I have for her life, which are prodigious and genuine. And this is why this July, on a warm night at Wolf Trap in Virginia, I was standing behind her, dancing and singing, and hoping it was dark enough that no one saw my tears.

All of this is to say that my sister got engaged this week. And although I'm known to have opinions about everything, mostly, and not always given credit (I'll take the liberty of saying) for the feeling behind them, the only thing I care about in the context of this event and any other is her happiness and wellbeing and fulfillment in this human lifetime, whatever this is and whatever that means. I - quite honestly - told her fiance on Tuesday that she is one person of billions that I know that I would die for, and I guess that lends a relationship a certain weight. I know one person who I've met in my entire life who has one sister a decade younger than she, born of the same parents, and I can attest that she too has the protective attitude and actions that I often exhibit when it comes to this beloved person. I'll probably continue to take shit for it, but I'll never apologize for it.

It's hard sometimes to love people, and harder multiplied by a million to let go, but the first is why we're here, and the second a necessary byproduct.

"Get Out the Map"

"I'm gonna clear my head
I'm gonna drink that sun

The saddest sight my eyes can see
Is that big ball of orange sinking slyly down the trees
Sittin' in a broken circle while you rest upon my knee
This perfect moment will soon be leaving me

Suzanne calls from Boston the coffee's hot the corn is high
And that same sun that warms your heart will suck that good earth dry
With everything its opposite enough to keep you crying
Or keep this old world spinning with a twinkle in its eye

Get out the map
Get out the map and lay your finger anywhere down
Well leave the figuring to those we pass on our way out of town
Don't drink the water, there seems to be something ailing everyone
I'm gonna clear my head
I'm gonna drink that sun
I'm gonna love you good and strong while our love is good and young

Joni left for South Africa a few years ago
And then Beth took a job all the way over on the West Coast
And me I'm still trying to live half a life on the road
Seems I'm heavier by the year
(heavier by the year)
And heavier by the load
(heavier by the load)

Why do we hurtle ourselves through every inch of time and space
I must say around some corner I can sense a resting place
With every lesson learned a line upon your beautiful face
We'll amuse ourselves one day with these memories well trace

Get out the map
Get out the map and lay your finger anywhere down
We'll leave the figuring to those we pass on our way out of town
Don't drink the water there seems to be something ailing everyone
I'm gonna clear my head
(I'm gonna clear my head)
I'm gonna drink that sun
(I'm gonna drink that sun)
I'm gonna love you good and strong while our love is good and young

I'm gonna clear my head
I'm gonna drink that sun
I'm gonna love you good and strong while our love is good and young