Talking 'Bout His Generation

Tonight, after sushi with my parents, I went back to my dad's house, where a bizarre instance of father-daughter bonding occurred.

My stepmom was having trouble with her stereo receiver, so dad was trying to get her to understand what was going on. He had the stereo cabinet open, and I noticed some records, including an original release Beatles LP I had found in a thrift store before I had a turntable.

This led to a discussion of records, which led to my dad showing me his vinyl for the first time. He has quite a bit, all meticulously alphabetized in a window seat on the landing of the stairs.

I went through them one at a time, with my dad standing over me, telling me about the records. For example, he has a nearly pristine copy of "Thriller" that he said he bought because everyone was saying how great it is, and it broke some record. I pointed out that it was the number one selling record of all time.

Tucked among the Rod Stewart, Grateful Dead and CCR records were some things I'd actually like to have. He has a copy of "Sgt. Pepper's" with the original inserts. He has T Rex, and "Abbey Road", and "Born in the USA".

There was some overlap - we both own Jethro Tull's "Aqualung", and my copy of "The White Album" is in much better shape than his is. We talked about records we had missed - he had sent back a copy of John Lennon's "Imagine" with a B-side that was apparently nothing but John and Yoko making noises, and over the holidays, I passed up a copy of Dangermouse's "Grey Album" on vinyl.

It wasn't all sunshine, though - I made fun of him quite a lot when he deserved it. Supertramp? My dad is a Supertramp fan. He might be Ian from High Fidelity in disguise. Also, though he has lots of Dylan, he doesn't own "Blonde on Blonde."

Sometimes, it's all too easy to forget that my parents are people. For Christmas, I gave my dad three mix tapes with handmade liner notes. He said that he wanted to talk about them, but he wasn't quite finished absorbing them.

The whole evening reminded me how much I'm like my dad. Normally, when I say that, I'm thinking of the traits that we share that I'm not too proud of. But tonight was good - it reminded me that there's a lot of him in me that's good. And though he is quick to point out that of course my musical taste came from him, (because if he hadn't been around, I'd still be listening to the Beach Boys) I'm ready to remind him that he hasn't ever listened to "Pet Sounds", and that he should give the Beach Boys another chance, in mono, with headphones.

just like Brian Wilson,
Kerry

Shiny Cool Things

This is from a kick ass advertising Web site that Katie showed me. It's ads from around the world, and some of them are absolutely gorgeous.

You should take a look.

Meanwhile, I'm going to get to work, and try to keep a straight face listening to Savage Love on my iPod.

taped epistles,
Kerry

Permanent Marker With a Fat Tip

It's Tuesday night, so right after work, I came to the P&H to hold our table for trivia. I had to go to the bathroom, so I went, and while I was in there I noticed a few things: first, the bathroom is grossly underheated. Secondly, my ex-boyfriend is now immortalized in three separate graffiti incidents, in three different handwriting styles (none of which are mine).

And they're not anything particularly salacious or damning or, hell, interesting, but I can't help but feel a little weird trying to get on with my bathrooming surrounded by fun facts like "Colin and Queequeg have a hatchett [sic] baby".

there's just no privacy anymore,
Kerry

Yeah. It's Just Like That.

"Growing up a boy in Indiana, there are certain things you're afraid of."

"John Cougar Melancamp?"



- Matthew and I, on the phone.

If You're Going to Throw Your Life Away, He'd Better Have a Motorcycle

There's been a lack of updates recently, largely because I've got the flu, and my major activities over the last few days have included sleeping, watching bad TV on the internet, and having crazy Tylenol PM dreams (like the one where it was my birthday, and my ex gave me a copy of "69 Love Songs" and a Scottish fold kitten).

This is the first time I've ever had the flu, and let me tell you kids - you don't want it. Get up from your computer right now and go get a flu shot. If you don't, you'll be like me, quarantined in your house for 3-5 days, not eating solid food, wearing sweatpants and drinking lots of Gatorade.

Some good things have happened, though. A local coffee shop / bar is looking for DJs, and I've volunteered myself. I've been asked if I can do a 2 hour set of lounge with dance music to follow. I'm not sure I can bring quite the brand of lounge / dance that they're wanting, but I told the guy what I typically play, and he seems alright with it. I'm thinking some Feist / Stereolab / Kid Koala type songs followed by the usual girl groups, garage bands, French songs, and songs that make people want to shake their asses.

I'm really hoping that this works out. It's been a long time since I've been able to DJ. My record collection has grown exponentially since the last time I played in Muncie. If you've got any song suggestions for the lounge part, I'd love to hear them, as I tend more toward the dance party end of the spectrum.

My stepmom showed up this afternoon with British Cosmo and Australian Vogue. I don't typically read either of those magazines in their American versions, but I think I can justify them today. I'm sick. And if the trashy girl mags are foreign, then they're a cultural learning experience.

Besides - this Jordan lady on the cover of Brit Cosmo is just too campy not to be awesome. She's more camp than a row of tents.

Have a great weekend, everyone. I'll be here, in my house, watching lots of Gilmore Girls and trying to figure out if I have any songs that qualify as lounge.

like a Hello Saferide song,
Kerry

And I Always Say "I love you" When I Mean "Turn Out the Lights"

Since about mid-November, it seems like every weekend involves some sort of small home improvement. I'm not sure if it's the back issues of Readymade and Blueprint that I have, or if my desire to nest has finally kicked in but lately, I've been intent on making my small rental feel even cozier. I bought a throw blanket and cilantro scented candles. I went to Pier One. I think someone needs to stage an intervention. But before you do that, take a look at my fancy kitchen mood lighting:



In other news, I was supposed to go dancing at the Blue Worm (or, the club formerly known as the Blue Worm) last night with some of the Red Hot Lindy Hop people. I had looked forward to coming back and blogging about my exciting night of blues dancing in Orange Mound. I had never been to the Blue Worm, and I was hoping that it would be kind of like my other favorite juke joint, Wild Bill's, but with a little more room to dance.

So, with visions of raffles for bottles of Canadian Club and dancing to some pure Memphis blues playing out in my head, I got myself looking pretty and met up with everyone at Cory's house. We got into cars, a caravan was formed, and no sooner had I rounded the block than a call was made to come back to the house. Some brave person who had gone before said that there was nothing going on - no band, no DJ, nothing. Instead, furniture was shifted, drinks were poured, and we danced in Cory's living room to an iPod.

I'm hoping we'll try to go to the Blue Worm again soon, though. I've heard good things, and I want to find out if this mythical nice dance floor of hearsay is for real.


hopes have been dashed,
Kerry

Cast In the Image

Mondays are typically kind of slow news days. The papers are skinny, CNN slaps headlines on silly things and calls them important, and you and I, the bored cube lackeys of America sit back and enjoy. I've always kind of wanted to be a CNN.com headline writer. Though, I would hate to deprive the person who does it now, as they're clearly a master of writing headlines that are so silly, so grammatically skewed, and yet, so riveting that I just can't help but click.

Headlines at the moment of this blogging: "Machete attacks the 'work of the devil", "Moos: Ch-ch-ch-change the slogan please", and "Bill: I can't make Hillary 'younger'".

But fellow Black Glasses Brigadier Kristin pointed out this almost headline-less gem of a story: I-Reporter's Wedding Cake is a...

Well, it's certainly a lot of things, most notably, creepy. Thoughts?

would hesitate to take a bite,
Kerry

Just Because Your Caucus is Held in a Middle School Doesn't Mean You Have to Act Like It.

Happy caucus night, everybody!
It's the first night of the real election season. Everything up to this point - the polling, the backstabby commercials, the name calling - has just been practice. This, ladies and gentlemen, is the Iowa caucus. And while a big deal has been made about all of this as an indicator of who will earn party nominations, not nearly enough of a big deal has been made out of the fact that the Iowa Democratic caucus is bad ass.

While their Republican counterparts show up to their polling place, scribble a name on a sheet of paper and head back home to watch some football or milk a cow or what have you, the democrats can't be kept down on the farm.

I had no idea how this worked until today, but people, the Democratic caucus is just like middle school.

The basic premise is this: The voter shows up to the polling place at 7 p.m. The ringleader of this madness instructs people to clump with other supporters of their candidate of choice in specific areas of the room. A count is taken, and those candidates with 15 percent or more are considered "viable" and allowed to stay in the race. The candidates with less than 15 percent are allowed to align themselves with a viable candidate and vote again.

But - before the re-vote, a representative from each viable candidate is allowed to stand up and try to convince the supporters of non-viable candidates to support their candidate. Confused yet?

It gets better. After every camp has been allowed a few minutes for convincing speeches, there's a "realignment" period where the polling place is turned into a giant clusterfuck of people trying to figure out who to cast their re-vote for.

I'm watching the streaming, anchor-free video from CNN.com, and here are some of the things that have happened. (Mind you, I came in right before the pre-realignment speeches).

- The lady giving the Re-Vote Obama speech stood on a table and pointed her finger at the crowd while yelling that Obama is the CANDIDATE FOR EVERYBODY! The speech was short, sweet, and emphatic, managing to draw a loud chorus of booing from every non-Obama supporter in the room as she lightly insulted several of the candidates.

- When Bill Richardson's name was called, a woman who is probably the librarian at the middle school where this particular caucus is taking place read aloud a letter from Richardson. She couldn't have sounded more bored.

- The Caucusmaster (the guy yelling the rules) said that there would be a "30 minute re-alignment period". Someone yelled for it to be shortened to 10 minutes. A vote was taken by yelling "yay!" or "no!", and when that was unclear, a second vote was taken by show of hands. It got voted down, but after more yelling, everyone agreed to a compromise of 20 minutes.

That's where we are now. The Caucusmaster just gave the ten minute warning. I'm anxiously munching on my beefstick, hoping that these nice midwesterners are able to stop yelling for a few minutes and make a decision.

OMG! The Edwards guy has all of his supporters raising their hands, and is making them sit down when he points at them! John Edwards for middle school class president! The Edwards guy is crafty! He's trying to talk Clinton and Obama people into switching.

Five minutes left!

Can I just say that I wish I lived in Iowa right now? Or that Tennessee had a primary process that was just as kick-ass?

Enough blogging. I'm going back to my CNN live feed.

Proud to be an American,
Kerry

He Should Have Been a Posion Tester in Medieval Times

While I was in Indiana visiting the irrepressible Matthew, Benferno looked after my house. I had left him a note telling him to eat whatever looked on the verge of going bad (which was pretty much nothing given that my house could operate as a fridge). I'm notorious for allowing my milk to go bad, and when I got home, Ben had left this on the kitchen table.





More on the trip later, and the freight train, and what being back at work after 11 days off feels like (hint: it kinda sucks).

considers herself saved,
Kerry