November 22: Laundry List

Last night I went to the Laundromat. (Did you know that's a brand name? I guess I technically went to a generic clothes laundering center.) I kept putting it off and putting it off, to the point that last week I actually just washed some shirts in the bathtub to avoid going. But I couldn't put it off any longer and still avoid doing laundry at my parents' house (generously offered, but leaves one's clothes reeking for weeks of perfumey fabric softener and the acrid, unyielding taste of GPC Ultralight 100s). So I went and did 10 loads of laundry ($18.25!), and most of the time I was the only one there except the owner.

Maybe he's the owner. He's ALWAYS there. Sometimes he does pushups on the counter in that way you do when you've been trapped in one little space for half your life. He commented on how hard I was working today! I do laundry very fast! (Which is true. I was.)

It made me wish I was like Santa Claus in the old Miracle on 34th street, when he starts talking Dutch to the little girl. I wished I could answer him in Chinese and we could have had a happy surprise conversation about who left this Kleenex in the dryer, and why would people wash cashmere in a washing machine. But I'm no santa claus, so we just kind of made very short nodding comments and went about our business.

November

Today, as i stepped from my bar stool directly outside the Lotus for a cigarette, i was again struck with a wave of appreciation for the season that is upon us.

It is November 15 -- the middle of fucking November -- and coats are optional.

And though i have prepared myself to try to start digging the winter weather a bit more with the help of friendly winter fashions (borrowing the Sadoublelizzy method), i think what we are in is simply outstanding.

i like warm Novembers. It is easy to get around, and welcoming to be out in, especially after dark. Which usually is the case after work. And not feeling like the day should be over when you drag yerself home from stupid work simply because it's dark and it's cold and because hibernation instincts lie close to our genetic surfaces is a very good thing.

The warm November, i like her very much.

i am off to Austin tomorrow, and PR next week, so it's not that i am lacking for warm weather. But, "the more sunshine, the better" i say. Yes, i do.

So shine on, you crazy product-of-global warming diamond! Shine on!!

Why don't they play what the LISTENERS want?

A few months back, our oldies station became a "whatever" station. In most radio markets, these are called "Jack" stations, and there's this whole marketing schtick that Jack don't play by no corporate radio rules, and nobody's telling Jack what he has to play (which is, of course, a total lie; these are corporate stations, and I guarandamntee you won't hear Black Flag or Old 97s or--god forbid--some unknown local band on a Jack station. Whatever. I digress.).

Champaign's whatever station, though, is SO badass that there's no Jack behind the scenes. It's so badass, we have the Chief picking the music. And as the tagline says about 725,657 times an hour, "the chief plays what the chief wants!"

It's obnoxious and pointed and defiant, but it's also really pretty hilarious, because what the chief--the badass chief who don't play by nobody's rules and you can't tell him what to play because he's the freakin CHIEF, beeyotch--wants to play? Smooth hits of the 70s and 80s, mostly. It's all in weirdly in-your-face and aggressive, and then he busts out with some Carly Simon.

And so, at the suggestion of S-to-the-A, we begin an occasional ten-second feature: What the Chief Wants.

Today, the chief wants to flashdance. Also, he would very much prefer it if Ricky did not lose that number.

5 Bad Names for Your New Baby Boy

1. Adolph
2. Ashley, Stacy, Leslie, or, for most babies, Cary
3. Gaylord
4. Uranus
5. Tom Cruise

ROCK REPORT: Alejandro Escovedo

I was worried that, after his recent serious illness and his very slow, sad last album and the addition of an orchestra section--an ORCHESTRA section--that Alejandro Escovedo might be laying off the rock.

I was wrong.

Escovedo worked the HighDive last night in fabulous fashion. He took the stage looking very very much as if he might pull some notecards out of his blazer pocket and begin delivering a lecture on the economics of Peru's market culture. But it was not to be, for he had a little lesson to deliver on the art of rockin' it punk-gone-country-gone-symphonic.

The stage was almost as crowded as the audience, sad to say, with a cellist, a violinist, a guy on pedal steel and Apple ibook, a drummer, Alejandro and his guitars, a bass player, and a lead guitarist. (Apparently, they've been playing with two cellists and two violins, but left one set at home.) The sound was fantastic (but too loud. It's always too loud, but maybe they were planning for more people to be there soaking up the sound). They brought their own sound guy and thanked him repeatedly.

The music was awesome--some of the slower stuff, but lots of big, lush, forceful, intense stuff too. It wasn't raucous, or boisterous, really, just intense. And beautiful and loud, and the flimsy hollow floor of the HD resonated like a hundred people were jumping up and down on it, but it was just the music.

The crowd did get a bit bigger, but it never did get very crowded at all. And the crowd was pretty good, as a crowd--not too much talking, hardly any smoking, not too much of the general ass-hattery you see at shows. I saw quite a number of people I like to see at a show. Amanda, Door Vixen of MnMs, and I had a mutual appreciation moment dedicated to the pleasantness of seeing each other at all kinds of the good shows. Overall: Grade A evening. Plus, early show, so we were out of there by 10:30 (and the tanktop dancing kids were in by 11:00. It's distressing that the show turnout was so poor, and we were all nodding along like "yeah, well, Wednesday, you know, it's cold, can't expect too much... and then all these people come out at 11:00 dressed in way too little to just hang out to a mediocre DJ.)

Anyway. Alejandro. Jolly good show.

November 10: It's a slow day.

EAT BUNNY DUST LEROY!

Buuuurn! I love that. This, written in soap on my coworker's car, only makes sense in Central Illinois.


* * *


The other night I shut down my room in the office and strolled out to find a giant mouse sitting placidly in the hallway. It was right at the intersection of two main hallways, right outside the breakroom, right below the main light switch, and right in my path to the door. There was no way to skirt around it. And the damn thing would NOT move. I mean, it would move a little bit--lift its head, turn around, wave at me--but would not just politely get the hell out of my way.
I hate mice. My mom was seriously, insanely mouse-phobic, and it's not so much that I'm scared of them as that they just sort of piss me off with a combination of revulsion, incredulity at their brazenness in entering MY area, and...okay, fear. Fear that they will freak out when I pass by them and, in a disoriented frenzy to get out of the way, run right up my pants leg. I'm not worried about disease, or that they'll bite, or anything--I just want them to stay the hell out of my pants.
So I stomped around a little. Didn't move. I shouted at it. Didn't move. I considered throwing something at it, but the only thing I had handy was my keys, and if I threw them I'd just have to go get them back from mouse town. It was a real pickle. Finally I did what any normal rational adult would do: I went out through the warehouse door, walked around the building, came back in the front door, and reported to Nancy, the only remaining coworker that there was a MOUSE in the HALLWAY, and that I was leaving it there and going home. Which I then did, imagining the shock I would cause the next day when I reported that we have a mouse! In the house! By the breakroom!
But Nancy beat me to it. When the first employees arrived Wednesday, the following sign was posted on the facilities guy's door in beautiful Headline News fashion:
Mouse Dying in Hallway

So, to recap: I'm a wuss, we have mice, and they are properly mourned.

i can't talk to you today!

oh, i can.

i just got hit by a little bitta snotty, and felt like writing that to no one in particular.

well, i did forget my cell phone at home, and, with travels to tulsa in a few hours, won't have it for the next few days, so maybe that snotty was on to something.

or maybe not.

off to be with the okies! happy thursday!

YOU CAN'T TALK TO ED!

Because he's on All Things Considered RIGHT THIS VERY MINUTE, talking about tornadoes in general and the Evansville tornado in particular. Ed! Kieser! on national NPR!

Dang. He's not just ours, Downstate Illinois's Only Full-Time Radio Meteorologist, anymore. Now he belongs to America.

Today, I am free!

When I took this particular job position, I committed to staying in it for two years.

It's my second anniversary.

It's not that I'm planning on quitting tomorrow, but I feel like I COULD. I feel released. I mean, I know I could have done it six months ago, or 13 months ago; they don't own me. Nonetheless. I feel like I'm all paid up, like I paid the check and now I'm just sitting here, enjoying my coffee, and when I'm done with that, I can just stand up and walk on away.

Yay.