« July 2005 | Main | October 2005 »

September 24, 2005

casimir pulaski letdown

when i bought my ticket to see sufjan stevens back in july i admit that i was pretty apprehensive because the show was at the mercy lounge and i have yet to see a good show at the mercy lounge - so i'm always a little bit upset when an artist i like books that venue because there is a good possibility that the show might suck...

but still i had high hopes and as i pulled into the parking lot i was shocked to see the massive line waiting to get in - after all it was 8:30 and the doors were supposed to open at eight - and since when did sufjan become so popular? because there were seriously like one million people in line and most of them were under the age of twenty & why do bars have 18 & older shows? well as i said previously i had purchased my ticket back in july so i felt no remorse walking to the front of the line and merging in with the rest of the tight t-shirted youngsters with their satchels and their trendy suitjackets of instant indie cred (even though you know they totally bought it at hot topic) and their whatnot -

due to the massive audience they moved the show down to the cannery ballroom which is slightly larger than the mercy lounge so i sidled up to the bar ordered a beer and played the waiting game - apparently there was a security breech of some kind because the bar closed down for a good hour - at least they were telling us there was a security breech but i think what really happened was the barstaff took one look at the mop-topped goodwill kids flowing through the door and they realized they were going to run out of ironic pbr's if they didn't take action and fast!

by the time the opening act went on it was nearly ten o'clock and the crowd outside was still filtering in ever so slowly - i've forgetten the name of the opening act i think her name was lisa loeb or lizzy mcguire or something and she was good - nice strong voice, easy on the eyes, and very apologetic for the delay in getting things started. and i loved her. and she loved me. and we toured the world opening for bon giovi spreading our message of love and alacrity.

she left the stage around 10:30 and the waiting game began again. and here's the thing that sort of pisses me off - there was no tearing down or setting up of instruments just a lot of unnecessary standing around and waiting - sufjan took the stage around 11:30 and i was heading for the parking lot by 12:00 and i don't know if it was the fact the he was having trouble singing on key or that the band was generally sloppy or that i was just tired of standing around waiting for the horn section to empty their spit valves between songs...

a good portion of folks were just milling around talking over the music like it was open mic night at the stoplight cafe...and so i left - and as i walked back to the parking lot i wondered what ever became of bands/artists that were actually good at what they did outside of a recording studio - and it's not that i blame sufjan for sucking - it's not really his fault. the odds were stacked against him because hey, mercy lounge...and also, he was wearing a fighting illini t-shirt - i half expected ron zook to walk out and sing back up - still, i wouldn't mind getting my $18 dollars back because now i'm short on electrolysis money for the month. and i have no confidence in plunking down the money to see new pornographers at the mercy lounge next month.

Posted by young_christopher at 1:52 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

September 22, 2005

Say My Name, Say My Name

Names are so personal, especially first names. For example, I never consider that I know someone until I know their name (otherwise it's just "that guy who always looks high," or "the woman who tight-rolled her jeans that one time"). There's a local dog park not far from our house where I take Mackenzie the Weimaraner several times a week. We almost always see the same people, and we usually spend about an hour together, but I don't know any of their names. Oddly enough, we all know each other's dog's names, and we know which dog belongs to which person...but that's where the relationship ends. I imagine I'll eventually introduce myself to some of them, but honestly, I'm not looking for a new group of friends, I'm just there for my dog to get some exercise. Besides, with a name like mine they'd probably just end up calling me Michael, or Mike. In reality I've been called far worse, so I guess that's cool.

I think naming hurricanes makes them equally personal. No one would remember which hurricane destroyed their home if the names were an eight-digit string of numbers (like 08292005), but everyone will remember Katrina, just like everyone remembers Andrew, Hugo and the others. It's also easier to get mad at something with an actual name (or to spray paint someone's name across the plywood you're using to cover your windows). If a hurricane destroyed my home I would feel devastated, but being able to call it by a name when I was cursing would make it a little easier. It must be awkward when you and the hurricane share the same name. I'm sure the jokes grow old within a matter of minutes.

A study came out recently that claimed some names are sexier than others. Did it really take a study to figure that out? Let's not pull punches here friends...some names are plainly difficult, while others are simply just more fun to say. For good or bad we form opinions of people based on their name...even before we ever meet them. Sometimes it's because of associations. Maybe you have to interview a candidate for a job-opening and maybe her name is Rhonda. You know that she's well-qualified for the position, but before she ever arrived you already pegged her as a bully because a girl named Rhonda made you eat dirt in the second grade and you've never forgotten it. At the same time, we don't necessarily need an association...just a bias. If anyone's to blame for the guy named Horace who's cutting your hair it's his parent(s), so give the barber a break. If all else fails you can blame the region, which in this case seems appropriate. After all, it's just a name...right?

And I'll hang around, as long as you will let me / and I never minded standin' in the rain / but you don't have to call me darlin', darlin' / you never even called me by my name

Posted by micah at 3:17 PM | TrackBack

September 20, 2005

Image is Everything?

We Americans can be very car-centric people. I'm no exception. When you think about it, the purpose of an automobile is very simple: a means of getting from point A to point B. After this, everything else is (in varying degrees) unnecessary. Certainly, having air-conditioning is a wonderful thing (especially in the south), and an air bag seems like a true necessity these days. To some degree we've even begun to expect things like CD players and tape players (as well as AM/FM radios) in our vehicles. The truth is we could do without all these things. As protective and psychologically appeasing as an air bag is, we've driven without them much longer than they've been in our cars...so, it is possible to drive a car that doesn't have an air bag. Additionally, we don't need air conditioning, CD players or surround sound to get from point A to point B either. It's nice, there's no arguing that, but ultimately unnecessary. In fact, although no one's going to tell you this, a car need not even have been built in this decade (or the last) to accomplish what it's meant to...getting your ass from the house to the grocery store in under ten minutes. But this is where I have to offer a confession...I am a slave to image.

Recently, after spending part of the summer as a one car family, my wife and I bought something else. The summer had been fairly convenient (for me at least), but as Fall approached and Tricia prepared to begin teaching again, we knew we had to get another car. Now, here's the rub. I had been driving/we had been sharing a lovely pearl white Volvo S70. It's five years old, but looks, smells and drives like it's brand new. Tan leather covers the interior, it has a fantastic sound system, sport wheels, a turbo engine, dual climate control, dual airbags, power seats, a sunroof, one of those fancy-schmancy computers in the dash that tells you how many miles you can drive with the gas in your tank...it's even got wipers on the headlights. I had gotten very used to driving the Volvo...in fact, I was beginning to see myself as a "Volvo man" since this was the third one I had driven (an '83 240 wagon got me through high school and into college, and a '87 740 sedan carried me the rest of the way and into marriage). When Tricia and I started looking for something else we tossed around the idea of getting another Volvo, but knew that an SUV would be more practical (what with the two dogs that seem to travel with us everywhere we go). Honestly though, I was having a tough time (mentally and emotionally) letting go of the Volvo, my Volvo.

So we bought a Ford Explorer. It's the same age as the Volvo, but has very few of the same amenities previously described. It does have a CD/tape/radio combo, and it does have dual airbags, but that's where the similarities end. Truthfully, it's a really nice automobile. It's in excellent shape, has nice running boards, and a cool compass/temperature feature right below the spot where you can put your garage door opener (which doubles as a handy spot to hide a pack of smokes). It's a beautiful blue color, has ample room for our stuff, and is fun to drive. Really, there's only one problem, and it's with me. How am I supposed to go from "Volvo man" to "Explorer man" without having some sort of interpersonal crisis? In the Volvo I could listen to David Alan Coe or Outkast and people thought it was ironic, now I'm just some guy in an SUV who needs to turn the volume down. I could cut off a car in traffic and the turbo engine would save me every time...now they're in my rearview mirror shaking their fists (at least in the Volvo I could hoist a triumphant middle finger through the sun roof, letting it wave in the breeze).

It's been one month since I first started driving the Explorer. I still have a Volvo key on my keychain, but rarely drive it. Honestly it suits my wife more than me. She loves the sun roof, loves being able to pick her own temperature, and loves being able to engage the seat warmers in the winter. I took it to the car wash over the weekend and it felt strange to drive...in fact, when I got back in my Explorer I was happy...it felt comfortable. Maybe I've been an "SUV man" all along and never knew it. There are a lot of Ford Explorers on the roads of America, with very different and unique owners. Having an image is therefore kind of difficult, but in a good way. What if all that image stuff is just something the marketing guys sell us anyway? I say it is.

Life is a highway / I wanna ride it all night long / if you're going my way / I wanna ride it all night long

Posted by micah at 12:03 PM | TrackBack

September 14, 2005

tear stained thrift store suit

two months into the job search i was desperate - i had moved to town with approximately $1000.00 in the old bank account fresh from hollywood, florida - the ink on my college diploma barely dry. at one point i distinctly remember selling some of my favorite compact discs (see bat out of hell 2, enrique iglesias et al) for gas/food money. i managed to land a temporary job working in the sales department of a giant computer company - and they were nice enough to tell us up front that this would be a sweat shop type of situation with regulated work hours and breaks and whatnot - this included changing the start time of our actual work no less than five times during the two week training course which ended up conflicting with my personal life so i promptly moved on...after all i'd gotten a few e-mails from some reputable employers - and by a few what i mean to say is one and it was from some marketing company i had never heard of before - but i was willing to risk it all for a homecoming weekend in chattavegas which was totally worth it by the way - i even stayed an extri day to watch the covenant v. bryan soccer game - i also found time to audit a class called elfin society

and so after the whatnot subsided i decided to dial up this marketing company and start raking in some of that post-college money i had been promised my whole life long. i phoned the marketing company and asked for stephanie - was told by someone named jennifer that stephanie was not there but she would be more than happy to set up an interview for me. she gave me directions and said they shared a building with a construction firm...so i dress up in my finest clothing - mapquest the address and drive out for the big interview - i must have driven past the place at least three times because i was under the impression that this would be an actual office building...i quickly realized that there was not an office building on the entire block so i started looking for numbers and pulled up to this pre-fab warehouse type structure where i saw a professional sign denoting the name of the construction firm. just to the right (my right) of their front door was a second door - in fact, you might even say that it was a side door - and i'll never forget the little strip of paper taped above the door bell with the words no limits marketing written with one of those chubby permanent ink markers that smell so yummy.

i walked in and was greeted by the receptionist (not stephanie or jennifer) - and here is the odd thing - she's working at one of these particle board type desks that you buy at your local office max and i noticed immediately that the only thing on the desk was a cupholder for pens and a telephone - no computer, no typewriter just the desk - now there was a computer in a little (starsky & ) hutch type deal tucked in the (kitty) corner but i'm pretty sure it was one of those fake model home displays and there really wasn't a computer there at all...at any rate i sat down and dutifully filled out the job app (forgive me please for using the informal abbreviation "app" - i find the word "application" quite tedious to type) and handed it back to not jennifer/stephanie. fifteen minutes later i was seated in an office (closet) in the back part of the suite where my interview was to take place. there was some really bad hotel art on one wall and the desk in this office was also particle board but it had the classic warped look that you see on this type of furniture after it sits on the side of the interstate for a day or so - the gentleman that came in to interview me was wearing an ill fitting suit that may or may not have been purchased from an amway catalogue - he claimed to be the branch manager and vaguely described the marketing that his company did. he told me that if i made it to the second interview i would have the opportunity to observe the various & sundry elements of their business operations with an associate - i left the interview still feeling somewhat confused as to what it was this company actually did - but i was hopeful for a second interview.

you may be shocked to learn that i received a call for a second interview that same day and dutifully took down the information i would need. when i returned to no limits headquarters the following day the computer was still fake and the reception area was filled with about twelve people who looked as confused as i - this was compounded by the loud cheering coming from behind the closed door leading to the inner sanctum...eventually they took me into the same office i had initially interviewed in to meet the sales team i would be observing - led by a gentleman named shad...and now i feel i must give a brief description of the one they call shad.

shad had shaggy black hair with a few gray hairs here an there fashioned into some type of a mullet - he was wearing a silver suit that no doubt wowed the kids at someone's senior prom back in 1992 - a suit that had seen its better days - as i would later notice it had some unsightly stains here and there. shad had chosen a black shiny shirt to complete the ensemble and if he had chosen to wear a tie i feel comfortable insiting that it would have been a bolo tie. it might surprise some of you to learn that shad had a hygeine problem or two - he had nose hair for miles and his teeth were half gone...now when i say that his teeth were half gone i don't mean to infer that he was missing any actual teeth - it's just that the teeth he did have were...well the bottom half was missing.

as we made our way out to the parking lot, one of the associates asked me where my sneakers were...why would i need sneakers? as it turns out i needed sneakers because we were about to drive 90 miles where we would proceed to wander around neighborhoods selling pizza hut coupons door to door. no really. that's exactly what no limits marketing did...well that's not all they did, apparently they also sold coupons for mufflers or something. midway through the day shad took me back to the car to go through the business model (sketched on a napkin) and proceeded to tell me just how much money i would be making working for their firm - when i asked how much shad was bringin home he insisted that it was 600.00 per week and i just kept looking at his suit and thinking...really? this is the same guy who bummed $20 from another associate so he could buy me lunch at mcdonald's - the same guy who made another trainee drive the 180 mile round trip because the windshield of his car was smashed in....that trainee was also present for the presentation but he was more interested in the adult magazine he kept under the drivers seat of his car.
long story short, we ended up wandering around this neighborhood until eight thirty at night and by my estimate shad had sold $100 worth of pizza hut coupons in 9 hours which was somewhat impressive because i wouldn't accept $100 to eat a pizza hut pizza. i'm just saying. on the long car ride home shad was putting on the full court press asking what i thought of the company and did this sound like the kind of opportunity i had been looking for - it was alot like being on a bad date (assuming here that there is such a thing as a good date) and i had to wait until i walked shad to the door to tell him i never wanted to see him again. he was noticably crestfallen and when we returned to the parking lot he handed me his card (printed on standard paper because card stuck is just so fussy) in case i changed my mind. hands down the worst job interview i've ever been on. because seriously, you haven't really experienced hell until you've spent an hour & a half in a car with a man that smells like the good will screaming the words to loveshack as it plays on the radio.

i think alot about that experience when i sit at my cube at my wits end with my current employment situation. i think back to those sad souls wandering around neighborhoods hawking coupons and realize i don't have it so bad after all. and really, the only thing worse than the job you currently have is hunting for a new one.

Posted by young_christopher at 8:20 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

September 13, 2005

Your Local TJ Maxx

I was looking forward to a highly pleasant lunchbreak today, as the weather was sunny and a little cool, and I had something to do. A mission. For me these usually require searching for a particular album or article of clothing. Today it was the basic white ribbed tank. Now, I know what you're thinking: Those are everywhere, it would take five minutes! Not so any more as summer garb is rapidly being replaced with the "must-haves" of fall fashion. I nearly wept when I espied a skinny scarf display. However, I thought between H&M, American Eagle, the Gap, Urban Outfitters, and Filene's I'd be able to come up with something. Alas. The five left at H&M had too skinny of straps (sleeves?), American Eagle now carries only camisoles, Gap Body has tanks, but not ribbed, the Urban Outfitters ones are so thin and filmy I might as well just wear a Hane's wife-beater and practically bare my bra to the world, and Filene's was just a catastrophy I don't even want to talk about. I had hoped to avoid it, but I now must go to the Prudential Center. Or "the Pru" if you're one of those people. It makes me spendy. And I don't want to order online because the basic white ribbed tank is my second favorite article of clothing following my jeans, and I simply cannot wait.

But anyway, on my remarkable mission (because, you must admit, it's quite a feat to hit up all those stores in one measley hour considering they're not all next to each other), I had the unfortunate experience of stepping in gum. I'm still obsessed with my month old skinny-strap black Rainbow flip-flops, and was dismayed as I felt that unwelcome initial pop as my foot pulled free of the nasty sidewalk. Is it even possible to get gum out of the tread of your footwear? Or do you just wait until it wears down? Today I acquired a leaf, green glass, and a new ecosystem on my wonderful wonderful flip-flop (I can't call them "thongs" because I'm eight years old and I'll giggle). All around Filene's I made that embarrassing unsticking sound with every other step. It's like having a squeaky shoe.

One of my first actions upon arriving at home was to get at the offending gum with a butter knife. I think it's worked somewhat because I removed the glass, leaf and ecosystem, and I'm not sticking anymore. I had errands to run and didn't want to wear anything other than my Rainbows because I love them. The most notable errand is box-hunting (for the move), and it's brutal. I won't go into it, except you know how sometimes you can just raid big supermarket recycle bins and call it a day? Oh man. Bums. They just camp out by the carboard! Fortunately the goldmine was discovered behind TJ Maxx. And I may go back to salvage heaps of bubble wrap that were still in the unbroken-down boxes. So to all you box (or, hell, bargain)-hunters out there: Go to your local TJ Maxx.

Posted by heidi at 11:19 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

You Are Where You Eat

Restaurants are peculiar things, so much so that I'm willing to say I'm fascinated by them. Like a lot of us, I enjoy eating really good food. Part of this is no doubt attributed to my southern upbringing (where eating really good food is a crucial aspect of daily life), but I also simply enjoy food for what it is. The preparation, the creation, the sharing of it with others, and of course, stuffing my own face...it's all part of the experience of food. As a kid I was fairly picky, but as life has progressed my palate has expanded (oddly enough, so has my waistline, but that's what the gym is for, right?) to the point that I'll try just about anything at least once. Some people never grow out of being picky, but, to avoid the negative social stigma, refer to themselves as being "selective." To those of you I say this: you do not fool me...I saw you in the Circle K parking lot gobbling down a whole box of Zingers then chasing it with your soft drink of choice. Selective my ass. These are the people I want to force feed, just so maybe they'll realize there's more on the menu than meat loaf, or fried rice, or whatever the case may be. Very few people take kindly to being force fed though (if they do, you might want to find a new friend before they go all Rex Vandekamp on you) so I'll just keep marching around the local Applebee's holding up a sign that reads: "Didn't you get the pot pie last time?"

Conveniently, this brings me back to the subject of restaurants (coincidence or clever ploy?), and in an effort to be up front, I'll admit my bias from the beginning: I do not like chain restaurants. Obviously a large portion of our society does, but I do not count myself among their ranks. The idea that I can have identical bacon cheeseburgers at TGIFridays, whether I'm in Portland or Pascagoula, turns my stomach. It would be like going on vacation and sitting in your hotel watching Family Feud all day. For the sake of the saints, couldn't you do that at home? I'm all for a blended, melting pot society, but at the same time appreciate it when people embrace their unique culinary heritage. That means the good folks of New England should keep cooking their clam chowder and Boston baked beans, and my fellow southerners need to provide the barbecue, fried chicken and sweet tea. Southern California/Texas, we're counting on you for the tacos and tamales (Northern California: bring more wine). We can rely on the Northwest for the coffee, but I'm also going to put them down for the seafood. For those of you in the Midwest...just keep doing...whatever it is you do (I don't know, potatoes...cabbage maybe?). When I go to a new city, or am traveling in a new part of the country, I like to know where the locals eat, not where the closest Olive Garden is. Not only do you get a great meal (nine times out of ten), you get a taste of the local flavor, the local gossip, and (if you're lucky) a little bit of local music. The next time you're in that city you'll know where to get a damn good meal, where to get your flat tire fixed, and maybe even who sleeps around. For your benefit (and to shamelessly plug these establishments to the five people reading this) I've included a few of my southeastern favorites below:

Nashville:
1)SATCO
2)Rotier's
3)Davinci's Gourmet Pizza

Charlotte:
1) Fuel Pizza
2) Taipei Express
3) The Penguin

Metro-Atlanta:
1) The OK Cafe
2) Marietta Pizza Company
3) Willie Rae's

I try to steer clear of anything that might look like preaching or coercion in this venue (leaving that to guys who stand on street corners or lurk in back alleys), but let me implore you to stop being such a jackass. Support your local diner, or the burgeoning Mexican restaurant on the other side of town (even if no one in there speaks a lick of English...you took Spanish in high school, figure it out). Give that Mom & Pop dive a shot (get to know the Mom or the Pop while you're at it), and think of it as an investment in your community, your neighbors, and yourself. These are the places and people that will take the time to get to know you, to remember your name, and be glad to see you when you come back. If you simply must spend your money in a chain restaurant (and sometimes I do...the [christian] chicken biscuits of Chick-fil-A are an albatross around my neck), just remember this: they really couldn't care less.

Go to East Asheville Hardware / before you go to Lowe's / you'll help to keep them opened / I'm worried they might close / from the stiff competition / from the national conglomerate / with the full-page ad in the color section of the Sunday paper supplement / and, stacks of plastic swimming pools / and, seven brands of power tools / with rows and rows of registers all having nice days

Posted by micah at 11:06 AM | TrackBack